


AGASTOPIA: The Endurance of First Impressions

by Skarla



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Durin Family Angst, Durincest, Fíli doesn't consider himself a Durin, Khuzdul, M/M, NaNoWriMo 2019, Not A Fix-It, Original Character(s), Original Songs, retelling the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 75,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarla/pseuds/Skarla
Summary: Everyone knew that the descendants of Durin were stuffy and melancholy and didn't know how to have a good time, forever pondering on gold and tragedy. Everyone was of the same opinion - Fíli was well rid of them and all they represented.But a pair of captivating dark eyes had him lingering at the meeting despite himself, and even after the truth came out, well.... first impressions do tend to linger, don't they?
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 48





	1. An Unanticipated Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> I've played a little with the timeline because I wanted Frerin to be remembered, and although in a lot of places this follows the films, sometimes the book events just... fit better. This is my 2019 Nanowrimo project, which turned out to be way too long for Nanowrimo! It will be updated on Fridays.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this first instalment!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations at the end of each chapter.

Dwarves don't remember much from their first decade or two on Arda. Fíli could just about remember his mother's smile and his father's booming laugh, the way that his little brother had giggled and reached for his shining hair. Clearer still was the image of his Uncle Frerin, his wide smile gleaming between neat mustache braids that hung almost to his collarbones. But then, Frerin had visited him each new moon for three years, until he had died when Fíli was fifteen and the last regular connection to his mother's family had died with him.  
  
If he was to be brutally honest, Fíli didn't miss it all that much. His father's relatives were friendly and numerous, and for all that they lived clear on the other side of Erid Luin and kept to themselves, everyone knew that the descendants of Durin were stuffy and melancholy and didn't know how to have a good time, forever pondering on gold and tragedy. Everyone Fíli knew was of the same opinion - he was well rid of them and all they represented.  
  
"Never mind those damn Durins," his great-grandmother would say as she wove braids into his slowly lengthening blond hair. "We are descended from Narvi, who made the doors of Khazad-dûm. We are makers, which is much better than being Kings. Kings often break things. Now, how is your latest project coming along?"  
  
When she had been called to Mahal's side, Fíli had cried for a week.  
  
Fíli's childhood was filled with the toys made by Uncle Bifur, and the treats made by Uncle Bombur, although both Dwarves were technically his father's cousins rather than Uncles. As he grew he played older brother to Bombur's growing hoard of red headed children and if anyone had asked him, he would have said that he was happy.  
  
  
  
Fíli was on his way back to the family hall after a day spent with Bifur in his toy workshop, when an unfamiliar Dwarf with a snowy beard combed into two forks stopped him in the passage.  
  
“Happy Birthday, laddie,” the dwarf said cheerfully, his hands tucked into a wide leather belt. “Seventy, if I’m not mistaken?”  
  
“At your service,” Fíli replied cautiously. “You seem to know me but I’m afraid I do not recognise you.”  
  
“Balin, son of Fundin at your service,” Balin said promptly, bowing. “I apologise lad, I knew you when you were a wee dwarfling, but I am not surprised that you do not remember. Your mother is my cousin.”  
  
Fíli hadn't had cause to think about his mother in quite some time, but the old dwarf had given him no cause to be rude so he consented to sit in a niche carved into the wall of the passage and converse when Balin asked.  
  
“How much do you know about how you came to live where you are?” Balin asked, settling onto the stone and pulling out an elaborately carved pipe.  
  
Fíli shrugged. "My father died, and as the oldest of the line of Narvi, as tradition dictates I was brought up by his family," he said. "I think normally my mother and little brother would have come too, but because they're from the line of Durin it was decided that they would stay with them. Her family, I mean."  
  
"Do you miss them?" Balin asked next, and Fíli eyed him in astonishment. Still, despite the personal question there was nothing but worry and kindness in the old Dwarrow's eyes.  
  
"I don't remember them," he said firmly, looking out the nearest window slit to avoid seeing the reaction to his words. "I was sad when Uncle Frerin stopped visiting I think, he was fun. But I have Uncle Bifur, Uncle Bofur and Uncle Bombur, so I'm hardly starved for family."  
  
"There was a bit of a fuss after your father died," Balin said slowly. "I would tell you about it, if you're willing to listen."  
  
Fíli nodded. "I wouldn't have sat with you if I wasn't going to listen to what you have to say," he said honestly.  
  
"Thank you laddie. So, as you've said, tradition is that the eldest of the line stays with their Father's family, however you and your brother were a bit of a special case. Thorin Oakenshield, heir to the Kingdom of Erebor, declared you his heir when you were born, and your brother after you, as he has no children of his own and no intention to take a wife." Balin paused there, seeming to expect some sort of response, but Fíli honestly wasn't sure what to say. Ok, so once upon a time he had been made heir to a dead kingdom, but he obviously wasn't anymore.  
  
"Thorin wanted you and your mother and brother to stay in the family halls after your father passed, but your father's family objected," Balin continued when he realised that Fíli wasn't going to say anything. "They argued for a week, refusing to acknowledge your legitimate claim to Erebor or to take into account your father's agreement that you would be considered firstborn son of that line."  
  
Fíli thought that perhaps Thorin was a little too full of himself and too used to throwing his status around to get what he wanted. There couldn't have been anything written down about the succession or there would have been no point in arguing about it, he remembered that much from his lessons. The legal bits had always stuck in his brain easily. Thorin had evidentially been arrogant enough not to bother getting anything in writing for the first twelve years of Fíli's life, and that was assuming that his father had even agreed to Fíli becoming Thorin's heir.  
  
Fíli doubted that he had; he knew his family, and they were proud of their heritage, proud to carry on the legacy of Narvi in any way that they could. He couldn't imagine one of his uncles giving that up for a dead kingdom, so why would his father have done so?  
  
He must have been doing a reasonable job of hiding his doubts, because Balin kept talking. "Eventually it was agreed that you would be brought up by your grandparents and that your mother and brother would stay with Thorin. We were asked to all stay away for the most part, to avoid confusing you. Monthly visits were agreed. But now that you're of age that decree has now expired, and, well, you can come home."  
  
Fíli frowned at him. "I have a home," he objected, rubbing his chilled hands together. There was a constant draft seeping from the window slits, which was fine when you were walking but it was a bit chilly for sitting this late into the year. "I don't need another. Uncle Frerin used to visit, and after he died no one bothered to carry on. I'm sorry, I expect it isn't what you want to hear, but I'm happy with the family I have, and-"  
  
"The visits continued," Balin interrupted. "Why, my brother Dwalin, a cousin of the line, took up the visitation after Frerin passed."  
  
Fíli looked at him in bewilderment. "I have no idea who that is," he said plainly. "I have no memory of a dwarf named Dwalin visiting the family hall, or speaking with me, ever. I'm sorry Mister Balin, but I need to get going or I'll be late to help with dinner." He jumped to his feet and bowed, not sure what else to do. "It was nice to meet you."  
  
  
The family hall was full of its usual cheerful chaos when he pushed open the door. Uncle Bofur was playing a merry jig on his pipe as Bombur's three children worked together to set the table, their short legs dancing to the music. Uncle Bifur, having beaten him home, was sitting by the fire. Tools flashed in the yellow light as he fixed a small wooden battle cart replica that Vitr had stepped on and broken the previous evening, much to Nýr's disgust. Aunt Skirfyr emerged from the kitchen alcove, wiping her hands on her grease stained apron.   
  
"I love him, I do," she muttered. "But sometimes I want to drop him down the nearest mine shaft." Her bright Firebeard hair was plastered to her perspiring face and her cheeks were flushed with annoyance above her curling beard. Green eyes crinkled at the corners when she spotted him and waved him closer. "Fíli, welcome home! Kidhuzurâl, can you help your Uncle in the kitchen please? Apparently the way that I whisk the gravy isn't right."  
  
After the conversation with Balin in a draughty corridor, Fíli was glad to slip out of his deerhide coat and head into the warm kitchen. Bombur's wide bulk was nowhere to be seen, although there was indeed a pot of gravy on the iron stove. Fíli picked up the whisk and started to beat the lumps out briskly.  
  
"Uncle, I'm home," he called down the passage that led to the store room.  
  
"Kidhuzurâl? What took you so long?" his Uncle demanded, reappearing with a small basket of onions.  
  
"I was stopped on my way back, a Dwarrow named Balin wanted to talk to me about ancient history," Fíli explained. The gravy was beginning to smooth out and his Uncle nodded at the pot with an approving expression, before he seemed to register what Fíli had said.  
  
"What? Balin, son of Fundin?"  
  
Fíli shrugged. "He just said Balin, said he was a relative on my mother's side and some mahumb about being able to talk to me now that I'm seventy."  
  
"Language!" Bombur reprimanded automatically, pulling down a large skillet and tossing a knob of bacon grease in. "Couldn't even wait for your birthday to be over," he complained, his large knife making short work of chopping the onions. Fíli kept his face away. Bombur seemed immune to the sting of onion after so many years in the kitchen, but they still made Fíli's eyes water. "Are you all right? Did he upset you?"  
  
Fíli shrugged. "Not really, like I said it was ancient history. I'm part of this family now, I don't need another. There was one weird bit, he seemed to think that another Dwarf had been visiting after Uncle Frerin stopped, but I don't remember anyone. His brother, I think he said."  
  
"That would be Dwalin, from the guard," Bofur said from the doorway, making both Bombur and Fíli jump. The jolly pipe music continued, but a new breathy hesitancy to the notes indicated that Litr had taken over from her uncle. "He hangs around the practice ring we use sometimes. Bald."  
  
"Lots of tattoos?" Fíli asked and Bofur nodded. "I think I remember him. He stares at me sometimes, I thought he was looking for recruits."  
  
"Not a bad assumption," Bofur assured him. "Now I guess we know he was reporting back to your mum."  
  
"I don't get it," Fíli said, suddenly angry. He jabbed the whisk into the gravy, half wishing that there was dough to knead. That was always therapeutic. "Balin seemed to want me to acknowledge them all as kin, but it's not like they bother to visit. My mother has never visited, right? I would remember. So I don't understand why they suddenly care now, and I don't want them coming around and messing things up when I'm supposed to be figuring out my craft and... and-"  
  
Strong arms pulled him away from the stove and Bofur folded him into an embrace as his brother smoothly pulled the whisk from his hand so that gravy didn't drip to the floor. "It'll be all right, ghivashith," his deep voice murmured as he stood as firm and solid as the mountain, emanating 'safety' in a way that reminded Fíli of Grandma. There was a lump in his throat and he felt all of twenty years old again as he hid his face in Bofur's knitted sweater. "It'll be all right. You're safe home with us, kidhuzurâl, and if you don't want the line of Durin talking to you, well, then your uncles will go have words with them."  
  
"You'd do that?" Fíli asked, surprised enough to lift his head.  
  
"Of course!" his uncle assured him cheerfully. "That's what family is for. Come on, into the main room. Bombur has the kitchen well in hand today."  
  
Fíli closed his eyes and let himself be led out of the alcove, suddenly exhausted. He knew that they were having a hasty conversation in eyebrow lifts and iglishmêk over his head but he couldn't bring himself to care. Bofur lead him to one of the leather armchairs by the crackling fire and pushed him down into the warm cushions. Little Nýr immediately toddled over and started to climb up into his lap. Fíli didn't help, knowing that letting the Dwarfling make his own attempt was more important than some bruises on his shin. At least Nýr wasn't wearing boots, although considering that he had feet like tiny boulders maybe it wouldn't have made a difference.  
  
"I've got a surprise for you," Bofur said, kneeling on the hearth rug to gather up the coloured chalks that Nýr had abandoned. "I've been waiting till today to tell you. Now that you're of age, you can do more than tag along with us and our crafts. I know that wood carving and cooking haven't really delighted you, after all, and we'd all rather you found your craft instead of settling for ours. I've spoken with some pals from the tavern, Thekkr is willing to let you take a turn in his forge, see if perhaps you'd like to apprentice. His wife has given him three girls and he's getting impatient; for all that the girls are a blessing none of them are interested in forge work. Or if that doesn't work out, Hanarr has a big project starting in a moon or two, he's willing to let you try your hand at working the stone."  
  
"Thank you Uncle," Fíli breathed, his mind already working through the possibilities. Hanarr he knew already, the Dwarf was responsible for the best friezes in Erid Luin and his stand alone sculptures were always well sought after. It was a mark of his long friendship with Bofur that they had an impressive one themselves, their family symbols carved delicately into a long piece of white marble that was mounted above the main fireplace. Thekkr, he was fairly sure, was the smith responsible for the delicate tools that Bifur used in the toy shop, although Fíli had got the impression that that was more of a favour than his usual work.  
  
"I would like to try the forge," he decided, remembering the trouble he'd had with chisel and hammer when his uncle was trying to teach him to shape wood. Luckily he hadn't ruined anything that Bofur couldn't fix, and they had been working on a new stool for his own chamber.  
  
"I'll tell Thekkr in the morning. For tonight, this is your birthday, you should enjoy it."  
  
Nýr settled onto Fíli's thighs with a crow of triumph and reached up to touch his cousin's golden hair. Fíli ducked his head a little, letting a braid swing forward so that the dwarfling could twist the wooden bead on the end.  
  
"Sad?" Nýr asked, touching the corner of his mouth gently.  
  
"It's ok, nidoyith. I'll be happy again soon," Fíli promised his cousin. "How can I be anything but happy when I have you here?"  
  
"Song?" Nýr asked hopefully.  
  
"All right," Fíli agreed. "How about a mining song?"  
  
"Trees!" Nýr protested and Fíli had to wrack his memory for a song that contained even the mention of trees. Where had Nýr even learned that word? He'd never been outside the mountain. Litr appeared at his elbow, pipe ready to accompany whatever he came up with. Finally, inspiration struck and he winked at her as he took a breath.  
  
Shining silver stains the floor  
Trees of holly guard the door  
My eyes weep to see no more  
The carven halls of stone  
  
Oh Khazad-dûm! So bright and fair!  
Life is cruel to leave me here  
Braids of mourning weigh my hair  
I walk these halls alone  
  
Oh Khazad-dûm! So fair and bright!  
But what is beauty without sight?  
My world is wreathed in darkest night  
Too far the light had flown  
  
Yet still I know beneath my hand  
The heartbeat of my motherland  
Here I'll live, sight be damned  
I'll never leave my home  
  
"That was beautiful nathith, kidhuzurâl," Skirfyr said with a proud smile as she reached over to pluck Nýr from Fíli's lap. "We'll have some more music after dinner."  
  
"It's ready?" Litr asked, threading the wooden pipe into the nest of dark braids piled on top of her head.  
  
Skirfyr rolled her eyes skyward but didn't make her take it out. "Sit at the table, your father will have the roast out in just a moment."  
  
Fíli was pushed to the head of the table, displacing his great-grandfather, not that Jari seemed to mind. He looked around at the familiar faces of his family, all turned expectantly to watch the entrance to the kitchen alcove and felt a smile tugging at his lips for the first time since Balin had stopped him in the passage. He was home, surrounded by family, and he was loved. What could the line of Durin possibly have to offer him that he didn't have already?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kidhuzurâl - golden one (affectionate family nickname for Fili)  
> Mahumb – Droppings (feces)  
> Ghivashith - young treasure (Bofur's name for all his nieces and nephews)  
> Iglishmêk - Gesture-code/sign language.  
> Nidoyith - young boy  
> Nathith - Daughter
> 
> The song is my own creation. It is a history-song, written by a Dwarf of Khazad-dûm who lost his sight and most of his family in a battle with orcs but chose to remain in the Dwarrodelf even though it's not exactly designed for the blind. (Middle Earth has no railings. Middle Earth needs no railings).


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is an important Dwarf doing important things, but Fíli has his own agenda.

Fíli didn’t think all that much on the strange conversation with Balin in the years that followed, other than to be glad that no other descendants of Durin had appeared when he wasn't expecting them. Perhaps his uncles had had a quiet word, or perhaps they stayed away of their own accord. He was too busy working at the forge to wonder about it, for he'd found that moulding the hot metal soothed a want in his soul he hadn't even realised was there. His burgeoning worries had been appeased, he'd found his craft and Thekkr was pleased to call him his apprentice. He even made Fíli blush, waxing poetic over the quality of Fíli's work when a banker named Glóin came in to commission a new battleaxe and had noticed Fíli's journeyman piece on the wall, the culmination of ten years of hard work..  
  
"You have a good eye," Glóin said approvingly as he looked at the piece, an axe as was traditional. "As I'm commissioning work from your father, I'll contract with you too. Will you craft me a pair of throwing axes, lad?"  
  
"Aye, but Master Thekkr is not my father," Fíli said cheerfully. "He's a friend of the family. Would you like leather wrapped handles or polished steel?"  
  
"Leather wrapped is my preference," Glóin said, frowning at Fíli. "Fíli, you said your name was Fíli?"   
  
Fíli nodded in confusion and Thekkr took a step forward. "Look, just because the lad isn't my blood doesn't mean that he doesn't do damn good work," he said hotly.  
  
"I don't doubt that Master Thekkr!" Glóin said hastily, holding his hand out. "His uncle is a fine smith after all."  
  
It was Fíli's turn to frown. "None of my uncles smith," he objected.  
  
"Your Uncle Thorin, I mean," Glóin said, folding his arms. "Will you be coming to the meeting tonight?"  
  
Fíli looked at Thekkr in confusion. "What meeting? The guild meeting was last month. Is there another one already?"  
  
"Thorin Oakenshield is calling a meeting to discuss a quest," Glóin told them both. "The rumour is that it's a quest to retake Erebor, although that won't be confirmed until the meeting itself I expect."  
  
Fíli blinked at him, not entirely sure what was going on. "I..."  
  
"I think he'd like to see you there. Family is important to him. It's being held in the third hall at sundown." Having said his piece, Glóin swept out of the smithy, leaving a small down payment and a lot of confusion behind him.  
  
"What just happened?" Fíli asked, wishing that he could bite the words back as soon as they had fallen from his lips. He hadn't meant to sound so damned lost. Thekkr's broad hand patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.   
  
"Only you can decide that," the smith told him. "Still,I've got to know you well this past decade and Mahal made you curious. I think you'll regret it if you don't go and find out what's going on, but that's just my opinion. Why don't you finish re-edging the mining picks, you can think about it while you're hammering them straight again."  
  
Fíli nodded and turned to the pile of tools that had been waiting for a week now. They could probably have waited for a week more, but the work was intense and required a minimum of concentration, exactly what he needed right then. Thekkr did indeed know him well.  
  
By the time the water timer on the wall indicated that the sun was low in the sky, Fíli had made his decision. He would go and hear with his own ears. It was curious that the first he had heard of this big meeting was from a strange dwarf on the day it was taking place, but there was an easy explanation for that - and he saw the subtle hand of his family written all over this. Litr might have raged over being mollycoddled, but Fíli was now old enough and wise enough -he hoped!- to realise that they had just been trying to protect him.  
  
Sure enough, when he reached the third hall and joined the throng of dwarrows filing in, he spotted his uncle’s lopsided fleece lined hat on the other side of the room. Fíli pulled his green hood over his distinctive hair and tried his best to remain out of eyeshot, standing with dwarves he barely recognised on the south side of the hall.  
  
A tall dwarf with gleaming mithril beads in his hair and a shorn beard climbed into the dais at the end of the hall and the chattering fell silent. He was joined by several more, and Fíli’s attention was caught by a dark eyed dwarf, his unruly hair caught back by a simple mithril clasp with hardly a braid to be seen. He glowered uncomfortably at the crowd before being nudged by the tattooed dwarf next to him, possibly Dwalin son of Fundin from uncle Bofur’s description, and visibly pulling himself straighter, focusing on a point just over the heads of the dwarrows that made up the crowd.  
  
“My friends, my kin,” Thorin started, giving a fairly standard introduction that was probably intended to capture the attention of the audience, but Fíli was hopelessly distracted already. The dark haired dwarf was far more interesting to look at than his unfamiliar uncle. He wondered what his craft was, he had no obvious tells on his clothing. Or did he? Fíli shifted around a group of miners to get a better view. He wore close fitting leathers in shades of green and brown over his Durin blue shirt, indicating that perhaps he went outside onto the slopes of the blue mountains to hunt. He didn’t have a sword hanging on his hip or an axe, but a reinforced patch on his shoulder indicated that he usually had something slung over his back.  
  
“To take back Erebor!” Thorin bellowed, breaking Fíli’s train of thought and prompting a cheer from the crowd. “I will welcome any dwarf who chooses to join the quest, all who assist will have honour and wealth when the mountain is ours once again!”  
  
There was a stir behind the dais and Fíli realised that there was a _man_ lurking there, wearing long grey robes and sporting a beard worthy of a dwarf. The man stepped forward and there was a muttering of discontent across the hall before a whisper of _Tharkûn_ began and Fíli blinked in surprise. Tharkûn, the wandering wizard, hadn’t visited Khagal'abbad in decades. For Tharkûn to support Thorin’s venture, well that implied that the events that would take place would impact more than just the Dwarves. Of course, there was a dragon involved, so Fíli thought that perhaps he shouldn’t be too surprised by the development.  
  
“Tharkûn has advised that it is time for the Dwarves of Erebor to take back their homeland, and he intends to aid us on this quest,” Thorin announce, his deep voice quelling the whispers that he begun to fill the hall. “He also has a plan to deal with the dragon, which will be shared with those dwarrows who choose to join us on this quest. I will leave at the full moon to travel to the planned meeting with our kin to ask if they will join in this mighty venture. Please speak with Balin son of Fundin after the meeting if you wish to join your axes to the company. For Erebor!”  
  
The crowd repeated the cry enthusiastically as Thorin left the dais, but Fíli watched as the majority of the dwarves who had attended filed out the rear exits with only a few clustering around Balin as he stood at the front.  
  
Fíli edged a little closer, wanting to see if the dark haired dwarf was still present, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. Shrugging off the small thread of disappointment, Fíli made a beeline for the east entrance, slipping through the doorway only to find himself face to shoulder with the dwarf he had been looking for.  
  
“Not planning on signing up?” The stranger asked with a bitter twist to his lip.  
  
“Haven’t decided yet,” Fíli admitted. He watched as the dwarf’s deep brown eyes widened in surprise.  
  
“It’s a fool’s mission, you know. You… you’d be better off staying here.”  
  
“You’re not really selling it considering that you were standing at the front,” Fíli teased. He wanted to reach out, to nudge a shoulder or touch his arm, but that would be rather forward considering he didn’t even know his name. “Shouldn’t you be waxing lyrical on the joys of the open road and the wonders that await at the other end?”  
  
“I’m not that good at waxing lyrical, maybe you should come and show me how it’s done; you seem to have a talent for it.”   
  
Fíli grinned at the promise that shone in the dwarf's dark eyes. He was almost certain that that had been intended as a flirtation, it had certainly been a compliment. “I’m sure you have other talents,” he said, making sure to maintain eye contact as he growled out the words. “We could, perhaps, compare our respective skill sets over a mug of ale?”  
  
The dark haired dwarf lifted a hand to his stubbled chin as he made a teasing show of thinking about Fíli’s question, and his slender fingers caught Fíli’s attention, unusual in a race that tended towards thick strong digits. They looked… dexterous, and his mind immediately jumped several steps ahead contemplating all the ways that could come in useful.  
  
“I think I might be willing to-“  
  
“Kíli!” They were interrupted by a booming shout from inside the hall. Fíli turned to see Dwalin frowning at them from the entrance to the passage. “Kíli, get your arse in here and represent the… family,” he tailed off as his eyes settled on Fíli. “In your own time,” he added hastily, backing into the hall.  
  
Kíli huffed. “It seems that I have a prior engagement,” he grumbled. “Would you mind waiting?”  
  
“I… son of Dís?” Fíli asked, his mind ricocheting off of the name as a terrible suspicion began to form in his mind.  
  
A smile that warmed his core like sunshine spread over Kíli’s face. “Sorry, we began backwards didn’t we? Kíli son of Dís, at your service.” He inclined his head respectfully, a strand of soft dark hair falling forward to brush against his cheek.  
  
Fíli swallowed through a suddenly tight throat. “Fíli, at yours,” he replied shortly, watching those captivating dark eyes carefully as he waited for the warm appreciation to be replaced with shocked recognition. It did not take long.  
  
“Oh,” Kíli said, his expression carefully blank. “This is a bit awkward then, isn’t it?”  
  
Fíli shrugged. “Only if we make it so,” he replied, not wanting this strange encounter to come to nothing. “I’d still like to get that drink if you would.” He waited as patiently as he could for Kíli to consider it.  
  
“All right. Come into the hall with me? They’re less likely to harp on about doing my duty with you standing there as an excellent excuse.”  
  
“Do they do that a lot?”  
  
Kíli huffed out a breath that ruffled the fine hairs that lay over his forehead. “All the damn time.”  
  
Fíli followed his new acquaintance - his brother! - into the third hall and braced himself against the nerves churning in his gut. They would all know him, he suspected, and have assumptions and expectations that he would likely have to overturn. It had happened a few times over the years, when people found out that he was from the line of Durin, but before it had always been a minor annoyance. The stakes suddenly seemed a lot higher.  
  
A small knot of dwarrows were gathered by the dais, talking intently. Fíli was surprised to find that he recognised a few faces; Balin and Dwalin of course, but also Glóin and a young dwarf clutching a large notebook that Fíli recognised from his lessons in the library, Ri-something. Uri, perhaps?  
  
“Fíli!” Glóin boomed, and every dwarf present turned to stare. The number of raised eyebrows would have been comical if the whole tableau hadn’t been so intimidating. “So glad you could make it. And I see you found young Kíli, has he been telling you all about the quest?”  
  
“Ah, we haven’t really had a chance yet,” Fíli explained.  
  
“Now, that won’t do!” Balin interrupted with a beaming smile. “Come over here lad and I’ll explain it to you and young Ori here at the same time.”  
  
Fíli looked to Kíli who shrugged helplessly. “It’ll be over faster if you go along with it, Balin can argue for hours!” the dark haired dwarf muttered with a sympathetic eye roll.  
  
“You’d better not abandon me to this ridiculousness, I’ll need an ale after this!” Fíli whispered back.  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  
  
Ori, not Uri, he would have to remember that, was practically dancing in place with excitement, his quill poised as if to take notes. Fíli did his best to arrange his features into an open and enquiring expression, but he hoped that Ori would take up most of Balin’s attention and leave him to observe.  
  
“The main quest will be to obtain the arkenstone from the treasure hall, so that the remaining kingdoms of the dwarves will unite under its light. We will also perform reconnaissance and establish a plan to deal with Smaug, should he prove to still be alive.”  
  
“How do we plain to obtain the arkenstone if Smaug is still in the mountain?” Ori asked, and Fíli was glad that he had, more than a little curious as to what the answer would be. “Is that why Tharkûn was here, will he use magic to find it?”  
  
“Tharkûn has advised that he knows of a burglar in the shire, one that we can employ to obtain the arkenstone from under the very nose of Smaug if need be.”  
  
“Oh, so that’s why the meeting place is in the Shire!” Ori said triumphantly. “It’s at this burglar’s house then?”  
  
“Yes, a Mr Baggins of Bag End in the village of Hobbiton,” Balin said with the air of one importing great and serious knowledge. He sound amusingly similar to Bofur when he was spinning yarns for Vitr and Nyr, and Fíli had to work hard to suppress a grin. Balin didn’t seem like a dwarf who would react well if he thought he was being made fun of.  
  
“Thorin leaves for the meeting in two days, right?” Fíli asked when Balin turned to look at him. “When are the company expected to leave Erid Luin to meet with him in the shire?”  
  
“Sixteen days,” Ori answered eagerly, interrupting Balin, who didn’t seem all that bothered by the interruption, merely nodding to confirm what the younger dwarf had said.  
  
“Very well, we have some time to decide then,” Fíli concluded. “I’ll not be signing any contracts today Mister Balin, I need to talk this over with my family first, and I have an appointment at the tavern to keep.”  
  
Fíli looked over to where Kíli was standing, looking more than a little bored as Glóin and Dwalin talked, and caught his eye, jerking his head in the direction of the exit. Kíli smiled, sending another wave of warmth through Fíli’s core, and nodded his acceptance.  
  
“Of course you need to talk it over with your uncles,” Balin said in what he probably intended to be an understanding tone. “You can find me in the records chamber on the southeast passage if you need me. It was nice to see you again, to see you here.”  
  
“Glóin told me about the meeting when he visited the forge today,” Fíli explained. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have known that the it was happening at all.”  
  
Balin looked a little put out by that, but let Fíli make his goodbyes without protesting. Kíli had managed to leave his own conversation and met him by the exit.  
  
“Did you have a tavern in mind?” he asked, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “I need an ale to wash that conversation out of my head! I thought they would never shut up.”  
  
“The Mithril Vein?” Fíli suggested, naming one of his own preferred drinking spots.  
  
“Never heard of it so I’ve never been kicked out of it,” Kíli announced with a grin. “Lead the way, nadad.”  
  
The unexpected address stopped Fíli in his tracks and Kíli walked straight into his suddenly stationary shoulder.  
  
“Sorry,” Kíli apologised hastily. “Should I not have-? I was just trying to, um…”  
  
“It’s ok, I just wasn’t expecting it,” Fíli assured him. I don’t, I’ve never, well, no, not never I suppose, but… it’s been a long time.”  
  
“I’m not sure how to feel about it,” Kíli confessed as they started walking again. “It’s something of a taboo topic, you know? Because it make Ma cry, so I never seemed to get any of my questions answered. And, well, I wasn’t expecting, uh, you.”  
  
“My stunningly handsome face or my presence at all? Fíli asked, hoping to inject some levity into the conversation. If he had said something similar to Litr she would have said that he was gross and punched him in the shoulder. Kíli on the other hand, blushed a fetching shade of scarlet under his stubble and would only meet his eyes for a moment before he stared fixedly at the passageway ahead.  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
“I wasn’t expecting you either,” Fíli said honestly. “I mean, I barely remember you, and I guess I haven’t really, well, after Litr came along the younger sibling niche in my life was sort of filled. I’m sorry.”  
  
The apology got Kíli to look at him again at least. “What for?” the dark haired dwarf asked in astonishment. “Don’t apologise, it’s not like either of us had much of a choice. You were twelve for Mahal’s sake. Who is Litr?”  
  
“Uncle Bombur’s eldest, she’s seventy two and a songsmith. She has two brothers, Vitr and Nyr, who are still finding their craft, although I think Nyr will probably end up making toys with Uncle Bifur.”  
  
“Your family puts a lot of emphasis on craft, right?” Kíli asked quietly as they arrived at the turn off for The Mithril Vein.  
  
“Well, we are descended from Narvi, and proud of it,” Fíli said, smiling. “You are too you know, what about you?” Kíli looked bleak, and Fíli frowned in concern, giving into the urge to reach out and grip the younger dwarf by the shoulder. “What? What did I say?”  
  
Kíli shrugged awkwardly. “I… I’m the heir now, so I don’t get much time for crafting,” he said sadly. “I used to carve weapons, bows and arrows and slingshots, but then Thorin and Balin insisted on all these lessons in history and diplomacy and politics, and I don’t have much time to go into the woods and hunt any more.”  
  
“That’s… I’m sorry.”  
  
“Not your fault.”  
  
Fíli shrugged. “I feel a little responsible,” he realised. “If our father hadn’t died, that would be me. Being the heir, instead of a smith.”  
  
“You’re a good smith though,” Kíli protested as they reached the bar and Fíli reached out to tap knuckles with Hepti, who was the main reason Fíli frequented the Mithril Vein in the first place. “Glóin wouldn’t shut up about you this afternoon, I believe you’re making him some throwing axes?”  
  
“Most promising smith in Khagal'abbad,” Hepti said cheerfully, the gold beads in his hair winking in the lamplight. “Two of the usual, Fíli?”  
  
“Yes please,” Fíli confirmed, but Hepti, it seemed wasn’t quite done.  
  
“He made me this,” the firebeard said, handing Kíli a small dagger Fíli had made him before he turned to fill up a pair of beaten copper flagons.  
  
Fíli sat nervously as Kíli’s dark eyes studied the piece. Fíli had been pleased with it at the time, but he suddenly found himself worrying about Kíli’s reaction. He needn’t have, for Kíli traded it for a foaming mug a few minutes later with an expression of awe. “It’s beautiful,” he said to both of them. “The balance is exquisite.”  
  
“It’s my favourite,” Hepti confessed with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before, Hepti son of Hanarr at your service. Fíli nearly apprenticed with my Da, but smithing suited him better, as I think we can all agree now.”  
  
“Kíli son of Dis,” Kíli said, reaching out to tap knuckles in greeting.  
  
Hepti’s eyes widened in recognition and he glanced curiously at Fíli but didn’t comment. “There’s a free booth in the back,” he said instead. “I just wiped it down before you came in.”  
  
“Thanks Hepti, appreciate it!” Fíli grinned, leading Kíli towards the back of the carved cavern that housed the main tap room of the tavern.  
  
“He was nice,” Kíli volunteered as they say down.  
  
“Family friend, well, the families are friends,” Fíli explained. “Uncle Bofur is friends with his father.”  
  
“I don’t know much about Father’s family,” Kíli admitted. “We have three uncles, right?”  
  
Fíli launched into a description of the current inhabitants of the family hall that he tried to keep succinct and interesting, although that was a challenge considering how many relatives were packed into the space. Kíli seemed to be following along, sipping at his ale as Fíli talked. Eventually running out of names - and spit - Fíli took a deep drought of ale to wet his throat and cocked an eyebrow at Kíli. “I didn’t think we came here for a family history lesson,” he dared point out.  
  
“I think the original purpose of the visit was somewhat derailed when we realised that we’re bothers,” Kíli replied, regret clear in his voice. “Which is a damn shame because you have the most distracting dimple I have ever seen in my life.”  
  
“I do?” Fíli asked, his grip tightening on his mug.  
  
“Yup,” Kíli sighed. “Right… here.” He reached out a hand to touch Fíli lightly on the cheek, and his long fingers caught the blond’s attention for the second time that evening. He wanted to reach up and catch them, see what they looked like threaded between his own sturdy digits.  
  
“We’re not exactly brothers though,” he said before he could stop himself. Kíli’s eyes widened as he snatched his hand back, but he looked more curious than hurt by Fíli’s hasty words, so the blond plunged forward. “I mean, we didn’t grow up together, we don’t have the embarrassing knowledge or the… you know, it’s not the same.”  
  
Kíli nodded slowly. “I know what you mean, but we still share parents. It’s not like we’re cousins.”  
  
“I know,” Fíli sighed, taking refuge in the last half of his ale. “It’s just that no one has caught my eye like this before, so I’m not used to dealing with the disappointment,” he admitted with a self deprecating shrug. Kíli looked shyly pleased by the admission, which made up for the flush of embarrassment his confession had provoked.  
  
“Me neither,” the dark haired dwarf confessed, biting his lip. “Another ale? I think it’s my turn.”  
  
He had left the table with the empty flagons before Fíli had time to respond.  
  
Fíli watched him go, weaving between the other dwarves in the tavern with ease. Kíli was oddly graceful for a dwarf, he realised. Perhaps he had slender, nimble feet to go along with his fingers. Fíli shook his head hard, smacking himself in the face with his own braids. Thinking like that would get him nowhere, Kíli was his brother after all, for all his heart didn’t seem to realise that. His brain knew better.   
  
Still… he had always thought he would be craft-wed like his uncle Bofur when none of the young maidens had caught his eye. Vitr had had a gaggle of young followers by the time he turned thirty and came into his full height, but Fíli had remained untouched by the urges that had seemed to plague his younger cousin. It wasn’t like being craft-wed was unusual and it had barely warranted a comment at the dinner table.  
  
Now, Fíli was beginning to realise with a sinking feeling in his gut, it was becoming increasingly obvious that he just hadn’t met the right dwarf. Or hadn’t seen him in seventy years in any case. Kíli turned with two ales in his hands and his steps faltered for a heartbeat when he saw Fíli looking at him. Suddenly worried at what might be written across his face, Fíli sat back and did his best to look nonchalant.  
  
“I got the same again, I think,” Kíli said as he slid Fíli’s tankard across the table.  
  
“It doesn’t matter, everything they serve here is good,” Fíli assured him. “Best ale in the blue mountains.”  
  
“Makes me sad to be leaving so soon after finally finding it,” Kíli confessed. “So, now that Balin has talked your ear off, what do you think about it?”  
  
“The quest? I’m not sure. I know what I want to do right now, which isn’t quite the same thing.”  
  
Kíli took a deep gulp of his ale. “What’s that?” he asked, wiping foam from his top lip.  
  
“To get to know you better,” Fíli replied, deciding that it was best to be honest. “I’m not sure that it’s the best idea, but it’s what my heart wants. As far as the quest itself goes, well, it sounds like a mad adventure and I’ll have to talk to my family about it. And Master Thekkr, I’m still just a journeyman smith after all.”  
  
“But you’re not an apprentice anymore, right?” Kíli checked.  
  
“No, I did my ten years already,” Fíli confirmed. “I could technically move on and start my own smithy, but, well I like Thekkr, I like working with him. I guess I’m not that ambitious, and I know he plans to leave me the place when he retires, which I’m happy to wait for.”  
  
Kíli was looking at him with something like awe shining from his eyes. “You… you are so different,” he breathed in amazement. “I mean, I like it, it’s just… different. Thorin talks like regaining Erebor is the only thing worth living for. His ambition… perhaps ambition isn’t the right word for it. I just-”  
  
“It’s ok, Kíli,” Fíli said, the name feeling heavy in his mouth. It was the first time he had said it, he realised. The first time in seventy years. “Thorin was raised to be King of Erebor, it must be hard to contemplate finding a life elsewhere after such a start.”  
  
“For him,” Kíli said, his dark eyes meeting Fíli’s own, filled with hope and desperation. “Will you come?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I know I have no right to ask this of you, but will you come, on the quest? For me?”  
  
Fíli bit his lip, unable to look away. “For you, I will try,” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
>    
> Khagal'abbad - Blue Mountains (Ered Luin)  
> Nadad - brother


	3. An Unprovoked Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family meal times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought the family tree I made up might be helpful! Bruni, Bildr and Billingr all fell during Azanulbizar, trying to regain the home of their ancestor. Jari was too old, and stayed behind to look after Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. Bruni's son is not named, because I've managed to draft out fifteen whole chapters without referring to him by name once and now I'm going to be stubborn about it!

“Can I just say, I think this is a terrible idea,” Bofur said, puffing on his pipe. “Going out into the wild on a mad goose chase.”  
  
“It’s family though,” Skirfyr countered. “Technically Thorin Oaken-whatever does have the right to call on Fíli for aid.  
  
“That’s a load of mahumb and you know it!”  
  
“Language!”  
  
Fíli had found out quite quickly that his input wasn’t actually required for the argument to continue. His family had all seemed to make up their minds that he wanted to go on Thorin’s fool quest when, removed from Kíli’s dark eyes and disarming smile, he wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to go traipsing over half of Middle-Earth. The argument that had been raging off and on for the past day was almost enough to make him decide to stay home in Erid Luin just to prove them all wrong.  
  
But then he would remember the way a pair of slender hands curved around a polished mug of ale and he would pause before the damning words fell from his lips.  
  
Fíli didn’t really care about Erebor, it was a distant vision that was all very well to daydream about but in the cool light of day its significance seemed to fade. Getting to know Kíli on the other hand, that was an intriguing prospect and one that constantly pulled at his attention, distracting him from the conversations happening around him.  
  
'If he goes, I‘m going with him,' Uncle Bifur announced, his gestures sharp and to the point.  
  
“That’s even stupider!” Bofur snapped. “You can’t speak Weston any more, how do you expect to get on in the villages of men?”  
  
'You could always come with me to translate,' Bifur suggested next, turning to Bombur with a raised eyebrow.  
  
Fíli realised with a sinking feeling that his uncle was actually considering this. First thing this morning Bombur had sided firmly with Bofur, but since his wife had spent all afternoon attempting to persuade him otherwise, it seemed that he was shifting his priorities.  
  
“Are you serious?” he blurted out, wincing a little as all the dwarrows in the room immediately turned to stare at him. “Erebor is a fools quest, for all that it is backed by Tharkûn. Why would you leave your family?”  
  
“To keep my family safe,” Bombur said seriously, reaching over with a heavy, work-roughened hand to pat Fíli on the shoulder. “Many will travel for the gold in that mountain, those who aren’t too scared of the dragon. But the only gold I need in my life is you, kidhuzurâl.”  
  
“And if you succeed, well the gold won’t hurt,” Skirfyr concluded.  
  
“You’ll need someone with you who will keep their head and pull back if the road becomes too dangerous,” Bombur said with a pointed glare at his brother.  
  
“Very well, I get the message! I suppose we’re all going then,” Bofur grumbled. “Fíli, can you give the family weapons cache a going over?”  
  
“Wait a moment for Mahal’s sake! I haven’t even decided if I want to go yet!” Fíli protested, his words nearly drowned out by a heavy knock on the door.  
  
“I’ll get it!” Vitr shouted, scrambling up from where he had been sitting on the hearth rug, listening to the conversation.   
  
It was Balin, stout and smiling with his hands tucked into his wide belt.  
  
“Good evening, sorry to interrupt. Balin, son of Fundin at your service.”  
  
Fíli leapt up to lend his great grandfather his arm, Jari having grown stiffer and stiffer in recent years. “Jari son of Nali at yours,” he said once he had stumped closer. “What brings you to the hall so late in the evening?”  
  
“Ah, well, I understand that two of your line were at the meeting called by Thorin Oakenshield yesterday at sundown. Given the, erm, peculiar circumstances here we thought a visit might be in order to determine if any of the family would be joining us on the quest for Erebor?”  
  
“We haven’t decided yet,” Fíli said, doing his best not to glare at Balin for interrupting the argument.  
  
“If the lad goes, we go with him,” Bombur announced, pushing Bifur and Bofur forward. “Can’t have him going into the wild with a bunch of strangers, he’s barely of age!”  
  
“I’m eighty-two!” Fíli protested. Jari patted him comfortingly on the arm, a knowing gleam in his eye as Bifur gestured sharply for him to be quiet, his eyes sympathetic above his greying beard. Mahal’s beard but his family were annoying at times.  
  
“Ah, I quite understand,” Balin was saying, nodding. “I’ll be drawing up four contracts then?”  
  
“Yes, you do that,” Bofur said, folding his arms across his broad chest. “And we shall read them and then determine if we are to sign up.”  
  
“Excellent, I’ll take my leave and leave you to your evening in that case,” Balin said with a pleased smile. “You’ll have the contracts in the morning, I’ll send young Kíli around with them.”  
  
There was a flurry of bowing, and then the white bearded dwarf was gone. Fíli was helping Jari back to his preferred seat by the fire when Litr piped up and he had to suppress an irrational surge of panic.  
  
“Who is Kíli? Is he handsome?”  
  
“Boy-mad,” Skirfyr muttered. “He’s your cousin, same as Fíli.”  
  
“If he’s our cousin, how come he doesn’t live here?”  
  
Skirfyr looked awkwardly at Fíli who stared back at her, not quite sure if he was supposed to say something at this point or let the adults explain as evidentially he was still considered little more than a dwarfling and not trusted to make his own decisions. He was feeling a bit petty so he didn’t say a word even when Litr added her enquiring green gaze to her mother’s.  
  
“Kíli lives with his ma on the other side of the mountain, just like you live with your ma here,” Bombur explained. “Right now, I think it’s time we all went to bed. Dawn will be here sooner than you want it too if you don’t watch out!”

Litr frowned. "Why have they never come over for dinner?" she persisted. "Do we have any other cousins we haven't met?"

"No, no, Kíli is the only one," Jari assured his great-granddaughter in his cracked voice. "There was a big argument when Fíli came to live with us, and we all thought it best to stay away. Now, where's my pipe, idùzhibuh?"

"Didn't it make you sad, great-grandfather?" Vitr asked, resisting his mother's attempts to get him out of his chair and into the bedroom. “You always said that we make you happy, even when we’re making a mess.”

The room froze for a moment as they all waited for the answer, the adults glancing at each other with wary expressions.

"It did make me sad, nidoyith, and many hasty things were shouted that I would not have said, if I could speak the same conversation again." Jari seemed to hunch into his leather chair, his thinning snow white hair caught in narrow braids around his ears. Fíli realised with a pang of sorrow that soon he would return to the stone and uncle Bifur would be head of the family. The knowledge softened the anger that churned in his gut over the way that his life had been derailed. After all, decades had passed and he had been happy, he reminded himself. Knowing Kíli now was far better than never having known him at all and carrying on his life unaware of the extent of the rift in his family. 

Jari shook his head slowly and smiled down at his great-grandchildren. "Still, it seems that you get to meet young Kíli now, and that is something good, is it not?"

"Yes, great-grandfather," Litr and Vitr chorused.

"Time for bed!" Skirfyr insisted again, and this time they listened.   
  
  
  
They were halfway through breakfast when the expected knock on the door came, and Fíli made sure that he was the first out of his seat to answer it. Kíli was standing on the other side, looking hopeful and a little sheepish and significantly less well groomed than he had at the meeting.  
  
“Don’t let aunt Skirfyr see you like that,” he said automatically, reaching out to touch Kíli’s tumbled locks. “She’ll attack you with a comb before you can say dragon.”  
  
Kíli grinned at him. “Sounds like a fate worse than death,” he joked, running a hand through his hair, which did almost nothing for the disorder. Fíli found it charming, but he was beginning to suspect that he would find anything that Kíli did charming, no matter what it was. It was a distinct possibility, he realised as he stared at his younger brother, that he was in trouble.  
  
“Is that cousin Kíli? Is he staying for breakfast?” Vitr shouted from his seat at the table.  
  
“Would you like to? There’s plenty,” Fíli offered awkwardly as Kíli mouthed _cousin_ with a thunderstruck expression. “C’mon, you might as well meet the rabble,” he decided, dragging Kíli into the room by his elbow once it became obvious that he wasn’t going to get a quick answer.  
  
Bombur and Skirfyr had put together the usual spread for the family; thick sliced bacon and eggs with fresh baked bread and mushroom porridge. He pushed Kíli into a spare seat and started piling a plate with a bit of everything while Vitr and Nyr bombarded him with questions.   
  
Skirfyr came out of the kitchen with a second pan of bacon and narrowed her eyes at once when she caught sight of their guest, but nodded when Fíli shook his head frantically at her. Perhaps Kíli’s hair would be safe from her tender ministrations after all.  
  
“Let’s have the contracts then lad,” Bofur said, dropping his fork onto his empty plate and pushing it aside. “Better read and see what we’re getting into.”  
  
“Uh, of course, um, Master Bofur,” Kíli said hesitantly, handing over a stack of parchment paper.  
  
“Uncle Bofur to you I suppose,” Bofur said, and Fíli was relieved to see a twinkle in his eyes. “The one with the axe is your uncle Bifur, and the father of the ill mannered brats who have been interrogating you is my brother Bombur. We all owe you a coming of age present I reckon.”  
  
“What? No I don’t, I mean…”  
  
“Shush up lad. Never pass up a gift,” Bombur said from behind him, making Kíli start with surprise as the large dwarf leant over his shoulder to drop an extra fried egg on his plate. “Eat up, you’re far too skinny.”  
  
“You think everyone is too skinny, papa,” Litr said disapprovingly. “I think cousin Kíli is just the right size.”  
  
“Of course you do,” Fíli muttered in exasperation as Kíli froze like a startled deer.  
  
“I told ma that I’d seen you,” Kíli said quietly, looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he buttered his bread.  
  
“Did she cry?”  
  
Kíli shrugged. “It was a bit of an odd reaction. You could have labelled it hysterical. You’ve been invited to dinner.”  
  
Fíli sat back and poured himself a second mug of tea as he contemplated how to answer the invite. Kíli seemed to have already guessed that he wouldn’t know what to say, and rather than waiting he had already turned to Bofur and was asking him about the marble carving above the fire.  
  
Fíli knew that he should agree, Dís was his mother after all for all that he didn’t remember her. Still, a large part of him was unwilling to open that door, that had been so firmly closed for six decades. He’d been of age for a dozen years, and until this week only Balin had actually made the effort to speak to him. It wasn’t like his location had been a secret, and he had been a little hurt by their obvious decision to maintain the distance that had once been required by law once the law no longer applied.  
  
Still, they were reaching out now, and Kíli seemed to be well worth knowing, even if his heart wanted to for all the wrong reasons. If he didn’t go to dinner with Dís, he had a feeling that he would wonder about it, and it seemed even worse to actually go on the quest for Erebor without speaking with her. That was, if he even went.  
  
He was tempted to stay home if his uncles were determined to go with him. What were they thinking? Nyr wasn’t even ten years old yet, if something happened to Bombur on the journey he wouldn’t even remember him. He decided to point that out to Skirfyr later; if he managed to change her mind first he’d have an ally in the argument, but not in front of Kíli.   
  
“Ok, I’ll come over for dinner,” he decided. “Tomorrow? I plan to work late at the forge tonight to make a start on Glóin’s throwing axes.”  
  
Kíli nodded, a pleased smile stretching his cheeks. “I’ll let her know.”  


  
The following evening, having scrubbed himself pink in the family bathing chamber and unearthed his best tunic from the bottom of his clothing chest, Fíli followed Kíli’s reasonably accurate directions to the family hall that housed what was left of the line of Durin. From Kíli’s grumbling, he had gathered that it was uncomfortably large for the three dwarves who inhabited it, but he wasn’t sure what else to expect. He barely remembered his years living there, and his mother’s face had long since grown dim and blurred in his mind’s eye.  
  
Kíli opened the door so soon after his knock that he suspected the younger dwarf had been standing on the other side.  
  
“Thank Mahal,” Kíli gasped, reaching out to grip Fíli’s arm with one long fingered hand. “She’s been insufferable, I thought I wouldn’t survive until you got here.”  
  
“That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,” Fíli joked as he unwound his green cloak and hung it on the rack pegged into the stone wall.  
  
“I’m sorry, I thought you were here to support me in this trying time, not the other way around,” Kíli teased with a wink. “Come on, Thorin is in the main hall, brooding by the fire and ma is in the kitchen fussing in case her cooking isn’t acceptable or something equally ridiculous. Although maybe it isn’t that ridiculous, thinking about it. That breakfast uncle Bombur made was good.”  
  
“Uncle Bombur loves cooking, it’s his craft,” Fíli pointed out as he was dragged down a passageway lined with chests and into the main hall. Kíli hadn’t been lying, it was a large hall for only three dwarrows. The floor was interlocking sheets of purple slate and the fireplace surrounded by green marble, an unusual colour in Erid Luin. The emblem of Durin was carved just above the flickering flames and outlined in gold, the light picking out the angular lines in sharp relief.  
  
As Kíli had indicated, sitting in a blue leather chair by the fire and looking pensive sat Thorin Oakenshield.  
  
“Idmi, namadul,” he said solemnly. “Mukhuh turgizu turug usgin. It is long since your feet have trod in this hall.”  
  
“Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ,” Fíli replied, a little taken aback by the Khuzdul, although the formal reply tripped off his tongue easily enough. Any dwarf who lived in a hall with Bifur Bildrul became fluent as soon as they could; uncle Bifur told the best stories, once you were old enough and had studied enough to understand them.  
  
Kíli pressed him into the chair facing Thorin and disappeared down a side passage with a muttered apology. Thorin’s deep blue eyes were a surprise given his dark hair, but Fíli found himself thankful that his unfamiliar Uncle didn’t truly resemble his brother. One crisis at a time was more than enough.  
  
“You have grown well since last I saw you,” Thorin said after a long moment of silence, and Fíli was surprised to discern a thread of uncertainty in his eyes.  
  
“Thank you,” Fíli said, biting back the more sarcastic response that had initially occurred to him. “I’m afraid that I don’t remember you.”  
  
Thorin nodded. “I suspected as much. Balin said that you were at the meeting, and Glóin speaks highly of your skill as a smith. I understand that you are apprenticed to Master Thekkr?”  
  
Fíli nodded, happy to fall into the familiar routine of small talk. It was better than talking of the quest after all. “For a score of years now. I completed my journeyman piece the summer before last. I understand that you also smith? Mister Glóin mentioned it.”  
  
“He did?” Thorin seemed surprised, his hand absently stroking down what was left of his poor shorn beard. ”I did, for a time. It was expected for the royal family to have some useful skill, and smithing served me well, in its way. I would not say that it is my craft, however.”  
  
“Do you have another, then?” Fíli asked, curious.  
  
Thorin shook his head, staring into the fire. “Statecraft was to be my calling, I suppose,” he said with a faint smile. “Not that those skills are needed here. My seat on the council is mainly ceremonial, a platitude extended by those who have never been far from their homes.”  
  
There was the bitterness that Fíli had expected all along, but so far Thorin had been something of a surprise. Perhaps this dinner wouldn’t be too bad after all, but there was still Dís to contend with. Fíli was considerably less certain about seeing her - after all the absent uncle and the mother who never visited were on two different levels.  
  
Swift footsteps down the passageway heralded her arrival and Fíli rose to his feet automatically. Dís was a tall dwarrowdam, matched in height to Kíli although Fíli thought that Thorin would still tower several inches above them both. Her dark hair, shot through with strands of silver, was caught in an elaborate nest of braids on top of her hair and caught by a shimmering mithril clasp with the house emblem picked out in sapphires that sparkled brightly in the firelight. She had blue eyes like her brother, like Fíli himself, and they were wet with tears as she strode forward, her eyes fixed on him.  
  
“Fíli, inùdoy, I can scarce believe that you are here,” she said in a rush, coming to a dead stop a short distance away as if uncertain of her welcome. “I know… that is, I owe you an apology, I never-”  
  
“Hello amad,” Fíli said simply. As she stared at him with longing writ clear across her face, he hesitantly took a step closer. Dís interpreted this as permission and swept him up in a hug. Hugs were hardly unusual for Fíli even though the circumstances of this one were, and he managed to relax into the embrace as Dís clutched him tightly.  
  
Kíli appeared at the end of the passage, a steaming dish of stew in his hands, and rolled his eyes, gifting Fíli with a sympathetic stare. “Sorry!” He mouthed.  
  
Fíli did his best to indicate with a mixture of pleading eyes and eyebrows that he needed rescuing, and after setting the hot dish down, Kíli did just that, joining the hug briefly, his slender body a line of warm fire down Fíli’s side, before using the gesture to pull Dís away.  
  
“Dinner is ready amad, Fíli has been working hard in the forge all day, we should feed him,” he said cheerfully as their mother wiped at her eyes.   
  
Thorin had already seated himself at the head of the table, apparently in charge of a stack of blue glazed bowls and the ladle, and Kíli rushed back into the kitchen for the bread. The stew turned out to be venison, lightly flavoured with juniper berries.  
  
“Kíli’s work,” Dís said proudly. “He went out yesterday and found a fine young buck.”  
  
“I thought you didn’t get much of a chance to hunt anymore?” Fíli asked as he took a warm bread roll from the basket.  
  
“Special occasion,” Kíli explained, inclining his head with a grin. “I have you to thank for the impromptu hunting trip, nadad.” He glanced quickly at Dís after speaking and Fíli followed his gaze to find that her eyes had filled with tears again, although she seemed to be doing her best to suppress them. Perhaps he was better off for her never having visited after all, the time would hardly have been cheerful if it was always full of tears.  
  
“It’s lovely stew, thank you,” Fíli said, remembering his manners, and Dís lit up like the sun. “It is? Oh, I’m so glad. Please, have another serving.”  
  
“We don’t have venison often, at home,” Fíli explained, wondering if he did so if this was going to be a dangerous topic to touch on.  
  
“I understand that Bombur Billingrul is a fine cook, Kíli was in raptures over his mushroom porridge yesterday,” Thorin said with an indulgent smile at his nephew. It was the first time that Fíli had seen him look halfway happy and the difference was startling, he seemed like a different dwarf. The blond was suddenly reminded of Uncle Frerin and felt a small lump form in his throat.  
  
“If he joins the quest for Erebor then perhaps you’ll get to try it and see what I mean,” Kíli said cheerfully.  
  
“Is that likely?” Thorin asked, looking steadily at Fíli.  
  
“I’m not certain,” Fíli replied honestly. “He has said that he will go if I do, in fact they all said that. But I’m not sure if I will go, to be honest.”  
  
“Of course you can’t go, you’re far too young,” Dís said automatically.  
  
“But I’m going, and Fíli is older than me,” Kíli pointed out.  
  
Dís frowned. “You are not going,” she said sharply. “We’ve been over this, Kíli. You’ll stay here in Khagal'abbad and we will join Thorin in Erebor after the quest is complete.”  
  
Fíli frowned at Kíli in confusion as Thorin rubbed at his forehead. “I thought you were going?”  
  
“He is,” Thorin said heavily. “He is of age, and he is my heir, it is only right that he join us on the quest to regain our homeland, his birthright.”  
  
'Talk about this later?' Kíli suggested in subtle iglishmêk and Fíli nodded his acceptance. Perhaps they’d have an opportunity for a pipe after dinner. Above their heads the argument between brother and sister raged on, and both younger dwarves applied themselves to finishing their stew before it grew cool.  
  
They were still arguing when the bowls were empty and stacked in the kitchen. Dís shooed her sons out of the space and thrust a towel into her brothers hands. “You can help,” she said sternly. “I’ve not yet finished with you. It’s a fine night for a pipe on the balcony, and then perhaps we can talk a bit after the kitchen is clean?” she asked Fíli uncertainly.  
  
It was easy enough to smile and nod and brush a kiss to the line where her dark whiskers met her pale skin. He was dismayed when the gesture called forth a fresh round of tears and grateful when Kíli pulled him away.  
  
The balcony in question turned out to be attached to Kíli’s room, which was the messiest space Fíli had ever seen. “How do you find anything?” Fíli asked as he surveyed the chaos.  
  
Kíli shrugged carelessly. “I know where everything is,” he said with bravado, pushing open the door to what turned out to be a small balcony carved into the face of the mountain. “So, she found out yesterday that Dwalin hasn’t actually been visiting you. Next time you see him he’ll be sporting an impressive black eye. She may have broken his nose.”

“She punched him?” Fíli asked, horrified and awed at the same time. “In the face?”

“She did,” the younger dwarf confirmed, nodding cheerfully. “It was quite something to witness. Yelled about liars dishonouring the line of Durin and everything. He was muttering about Dain of the Iron Hills having a better claim to the throne by the time she was done, and they never bring that up.”

“Wait who? I thought you were the heir?”

“I am,” Kíli said with grim resignation. “Dain has his own Kingdom to manage, and Thorin said that I was his choice and his choice is the only one that matters. It’s not like there isn’t precedence for it.”

He opened the wooden storage box that doubled as a seat and pulled out a leather pouch and two pipes, offering one to Fíli, who shook his head and produced his own from his pocket. Kíli grinned and packed his own pipe with practised movements before lighting it with a sulphur match.  
  
“I didn’t realise that they disagreed over it, the quest to Erebor,” Fíli commented as he accepted the pouch of pipe weed.  
  
“They didn’t” Kíli sighed, his eyes on the wooded slopes below. “Not until uncle Thorin made it clear that he expected me to come. She hit the roof, and they’ve been arguing for the past three days. What’s it like at your place?”  
  
Fíli shrugged. “Much the same,” he admitted, admiring the way that the light breeze pushed the smoke to fall like a slow waterfall over the stone ledge of the balcony. Dwarven engineering at its finest, you could see the way the air currents had been calmed by the carvings. Whoever had made the halls had been skilled indeed. “All three of them, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur are determined that I not be allowed to go by myself - when I don’t even know if I want to go! And if I do it won’t be for the right reasons.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I don’t want gold, or a kingdom,” Fíli explained. “I like it here. I’m not interested in travel or the danger and adventure that comes with it, all of which are respectable, dwarvish reasons to go questing. No, the only thing that is making it hard to decide is you.”  
  
Kíli looked shyly pleased at that, ducking his head forward and reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear. Fíli seized the moment and reached out to press Kíli’s strong, supple digits between his own work-roughened palms.  
  
“I know it’s not right or proper,” Fíli confessed. “But you at the reason I would join the quest to the lonely mountain.”  
  
Kíli met his eyes fearlessly. “I don’t care about right or proper,” he murmured, swaying even closer so that their hair, lifted by the air currants, began to mingle on their shoulders - dark ebony strands mixing with Fíli’s golden waves. Fíli shifted to a one handed grip so that he could move his pipe out of the way and took a tiny shuffling step forward, closing the gap and feeling Kíli’s warmth seep through his tunic.  
  
If he tilted his head up, their noses would brush as close together as they were, breath mingling and warming the slender space between their faces.  
  
“People will talk,” Fíli warned him, trying to summon up some willpower but unable to make himself step back again. Something in his chest, a half forgotten ache, settled and felt right for the first time in decades and the feeling was addictive, a warm, welcome weight on his heart.  
  
“People always talk,” Kíli countered. He reached up with his free hand and traced a finger down Fíli’s moustache braids, his pipe abandoned on the stone ledge. The gesture made Fíli shiver, which Kíli seemed to take as an invitation to press further forward, moulding his taller form to Fíli’s broader frame. Their boots slid together as Kíli slipped his knee between Fíli’s own and the whole evening seemed to freeze as Fíli’s mind struggled to process the new sensations, heat building low in his gut as strands of Kíli’s hair caressed his face. He was right there, the smallest movement would have them kissing and Fíli was unable to move, unable to look away from the dark eyes piercing his own.  
  
A loud crash sounded from further within the hall and they broke apart, stumbling backward with identical expressions of dismay. Fíli shuddered, feeling chill all over and Kíli picked up his guttering pipe and frowned at it. “That’s settled then,” he said as if in conclusion to some silent argument.  
  
“What?”  
  
Kíli looked the picture of determination as he gestured with his pipe. “We,” he said firmly, waving the stem between them for emphasis, “are going to Erebor, together. Because Uncle Thorin will win this argument with ma, he always does. But we’re not going to leave with everyone else. That would be a disaster.”  
  
“All right,” Fíli said uncertainly. “Why a disaster?”  
  
“We need to figure this out, whatever it is.” Kíli slumped against the stone wall of the mountain and blew a pensive smoke ring. “Privacy will likely be required.”  
  
“All right. So we leave together, just the two of us,” Fíli agreed. “And meet up with the company when Thorin does, in this Shire place with the burglar?” He still wasn't sure about the quest, but Kíli was right, and the thought of parting for months with no real hope of a reunion was worse than the thought of going.

Kíli nodded. “It’s as good a plan as any. I’m sure I can copy a map, Balin has heaps and he’s been on at me to practise.”  
  
“You get a map and I’ll get provisions,” Fíli agreed, a little surprised at how easily the plan was coming together. Of course, as soon as he started to feel confident, Kíli metaphorically tossed cold water down his back.  
  
“Do you have a pony?”  
  
Fíli shook his head slowly as his heart sank. “I’ve never ridden,” he admitted, watching Kíli’s reaction carefully, but to his surprise his brother didn’t seem concerned.  
  
“I can teach you, and we’ll take ma’s,” he decided. “She won’t mind. Well, she will but she’ll be more concerned that we’ve gone at all than that we’ve taken her pony with us. Hopefully by the time we retake Erebor and she catches up with us, she’ll be so pleased that we’re alive that she’ll drop it.”  
  
Fíli was happy to concede that Kíli was the expert when it came to Dís so he nodded his agreement. “Ok, so you get the map and ponies, I’ll get food and weapons. I know you’ve got your own bow, but I’d like you to carry a knife or two.”  
  
“Knife lessons in exchange for riding lessons?” Kíli asked hopefully.  
  
“All right. When shall we leave?”  
  
“Three days before everyone else. We’re going to need the head start,” Kíli predicted with a grimace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
>    
> Mahumb – Droppings (feces)  
> Kidhuzurâl - golden one (affectionate family nickname for Fili)  
> Idùzhibuh- my diamond  
> Nidoyith – Young boy  
> Idmi, namadul - welcome, sister’s son  
> Mukhuh turgizu turug usgin – May your beard continue to grow longer.  
> Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ – hail and well met!  
> Inùdoy - son  
> Amad - mother  
> Nadad - brother


	4. An Unscheduled Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a road trip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for smut and incest and things. I mean, you read this far, you saw where the ride was going, right?
> 
> Khuzdul translations at the end of each chapter.

It was a clear morning in the Blue Mountains when Fíli and Kíli prepared to leave their home for the first time. The plan had come together with an ease that was almost worrying, and Fíli hoped that that didn’t bode poorly for the first leg of their trip.  
  
He’d explained to their uncles that he was going on a hunting trip with his brother, to spend some time together before the quest separated them. He thought that they’d even bought it, although Bifur had spent a lot of time making offhand comments about how it wasn’t too late to pack and change his mind about Erebor.  
  
So, packing could be done openly, and if he’d packed slightly more travel cram than a two day trip really warranted, well, no one else was looking in his packs. Kíli even managed to gain their mother’s blessing to take her pony, Dís being fully in favour of the idea of her sons spending time together. Fíli thought that she was hoping that he would change Kíli’s mind about going, and felt bad about the deception.  
  
The fake trip should give them a two day head start, before their families realised that they hadn’t arrived back as expected.  
  
The shire was to the north-east of Khagal'abbad so they made a token attempt to avoid suspicion by taking the south-east road, into the deep woods where the Dunadain walked, travelling for half a day in the wrong direction.  
  
“I think your stirrups need to be a notch shorter,” Kíli said as they dismounted to stretch their legs at noon. “Try adjusting them and see how you get on this afternoon.”  
  
“What if that makes them too short?” Fíli asked as he made the adjustment. Riding Minty was a lot easier than he had expected, but it still used completely unfamiliar muscle groups and he knew that his rear would be aching for days before he finally got used to the movement.  
  
“Then we make a new hole in the strap,” Kíli said practically, pulling out a bread roll and his copied map. He spread it on a nearby tree stump as he took a large bite, shaking crumbs away impatiently. “The shire is about ten days away, and we have fourteen to get there,” he concluded, estimating distances with his fingers. “We can either push and spend a bit of time there, or take it easy on the road.”  
  
“Let’s see how it goes?” Fíli suggested. “It’s a nice enough time to travel right now, but if the weather turns we’ll want to take shelter if we have the option. Have you been to the Shire before?”  
  
“We skirted around the edge on one of the trips I’ve taken with Uncle,” Kíli said, folding the map again. “It’s a nice place. Very fussy residents, not all that used to dwarves but generally polite, if reasonably suspicious.”  
  
“Better or worse than men?” Fíli asked around a grunt as he hefted himself back into the saddle.  
  
“Oh, better,” Kíli assured him as he swung up next to him, making the movement fluid and graceful compared to Fíli’s own clumsy efforts. The blond hoped to be half as practised by the time they reached the Shire. “I’d take a Hobbit over a Man any day. The rumour is that they eat seven meals a day!”  
  
“Seven?” Fíli blinked in amazement. “That’s ridiculous. They must be very small meals.”  
  
Kíli shrugged. “Not sure, but some of them are more than a little round, like a prosperous dwarf. Ok, there’s a trail coming up on the right, it’ll take us the whole way to the Baranduin and we can follow that to the Shire. It’s a bit of a roundabout route, but it lessons the chances of seeing the main group as they’ll take the road to Michael Delving, past the ruins.”  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Fíli grinned, nudging his pony forward. “Lead the way, nadadith!”  
  
  
  
They spotted an outcrop of sandstone a short walk from the path as the sun began to hang low in the sky and made a beeline for it, hoping for a cave or at the least an overhang to shelter under for the night.  
  
Their luck was good; a large water-worn crack had formed between several large boulders and they were able to picket the ponies to a nearby tree and warm their small campsite with a fire built on a patch of sandy ground.  
  
“Do you travel much, with Thorin?” Fíli asked as Kíli spit roasted a pair of rabbits he had shot during the afternoon.  
  
“Fairly often,” Kíli said, his eyes on their slowly blackening meal. “He does a lot of travel up and down the mountain range, speaking with the different settlements. I think the dwarves who originally came from Erebor have scattered a bit in the mean time and he tries to keep in touch with them all.”  
  
“Seems like that would make it harder for them to integrate,” Fíli commented, poking at the fire with a thin stick until the end ignited in clear yellow flame. He looked up to find Kíli staring at him expectantly. “If he keeps on reminding them that they’re from Erebor, wouldn’t that make it harder for them to think of Erid Luin as home?”  
  
Kíli nodded. “Most of them seem to welcome him though, at least to his face.”  
  
“Of course they do,” Fíli muttered, giving up on his stick and consigning it to the fire. “How about you? Do you think of it as home?”  
  
Kíli chewed at his lower lip as he turned the rabbits carefully. “I’ve never known another,” he said eventually. “But… uncle and ma have always been clear that Erebor is our home. Which is hard to accept, because I’ve never seen it. Still, I’ve always felt that something was missing, and maybe it won’t be missing at Erebor. That’s what I hoped anyway.”  
  
Fíli levered himself to his feet and took the four steps around the fire to slump down next to his brother. “You’ll figure it out,” he said as confidently as he could manage, patting Kíli on the shoulder. “Maybe Erebor will be a homecoming for both of us.”  
  
“The thing is,” Kíli whispered softly. “I think maybe I already found the missing thing.” He turned his head slowly to look Fíli in the eye. “You.”  
  
Fíli smiled at him, holding his gaze until the uncertainty on Kíli’s face gave way to a pleased hopefulness. He reached up to tuck a strand of soft hair behind Kíli’s ear and leant forward slightly, unable to stop his smile from widening as Kíli mirrored the movement. Seated like this on the uneven ground, they were almost the same height, most of Kíli’s additional inches being in his legs rather than his torso.  
  
“There’s no going back,” he whispered, tracing his thumb over Kíli’s smooth bottom lip. “Are you sure?”  
  
“I’ve been sure for days,” Kíli replied breathlessly, closing the rest of the distance and pressing their lips together.  
  
The kiss started as a chaste press of lips, softly moving and exploring the new sensation. Fíli’s eyelids fluttered closed as Kíli’s arms reached out to wrap around his shoulders. He felt warm everywhere, like he had dipped into a hot spring, and nothing had ever felt more right as they pressed together like an interlocking carving. Fíli parted his lips, reaching out to taste and Kíli inhaled sharply, cool air hissing between them. He tasted of clear spring water and fresh, green herbs and Fíli’s nose was filled with the sweet scent of dry pine needles.  
  
Arms entwined, Kíli slowly sank back until Fíli was pulled half on top of him, tracing his tongue lightly over the imprint of his teeth in his lower lip. A low groan rumbled through his chest as Fíli settled his weight, half on his elbows not wanting to crush the slender dwarf. Everything was warmth and pressure and Fíli found himself frustrated with his clothes, wanting to feel smooth bare skin under his hands instead of the leather coat clutched in his fingers.  
  
The fire crackled as the meagre fat from the rabbits dripped down and Fíli drew back slowly, dropping his head to press it against Kíli’s collarbone. Kíli dropped his head to the sandy ground, bringing one hand up to idly trace along Fíli’s braids.  
  
“That answers that then,” he said to the starry sky.  
  
“Answers what?” Fíli asked, shifting up to look him in the eye. His nose was right there, so he gave into the temptation to press a kiss to the end of it, causing Kíli to go cross eyed.  
  
“Whether you want me,” Kíli answered with a soft smile. “I wasn’t sure. I mean, on the balcony I thought you did, and we made all these plans, but then after…”  
  
“That was never in question,” Fíli spluttered, sitting up and reaching down to pull Kíli with him. This seemed like the sort of conversation that they should both be upright for. “I wanted you the second I saw you in the meeting,” he confessed. “I only stayed as long as I did because I wanted to talk with you.”  
  
“But then you found out that we’re brothers,” Kíli pointed out. “That changed things, and I know what you said in the heat of the moment but I was worried, worried that you would change your mind once I wasn’t in front of you.”  
  
“I didn’t change my opinion that you’re the only dwarf I’ll ever want in my bed,” Fíli said boldly, belatedly realising that his unwillingness to discuss this in while they were still in Erid Luin had left Kíli uncertain. “I was resigned to being craft wed before you, you know. And if,” he swallowed around a sudden tightening in his throat, “if you decide that you don’t, don’t want… well, I’ll be craft wed again.”  
  
“Mahal, Fíli,” Kíli breathed, before pouncing and pressing their lips together for the second time in a series of quick butterfly kisses. Fíli let the momentum of Kíli’s leap roll them backwards, enjoying the weight of the younger dwarf as it settled between his hips.  
  
The flames crackled again and Fíli opened a reluctant eye to find that they were in danger of burning their dinner to the point of being inedible. “Food’s burning,” he said, pushing himself up with his elbows. Kíli moved easily with him, rolling to the side and to his knees to deal with the spit.  
  
“I think this is about done,” he agreed. “Get the salt butter, at least it doesn’t have to be bland.”  
  
They nibbled the seasoned rabbit meat from the thin bones in silence. Every time Fíli looked up, Kíli seemed to be already staring at him and they shared a smile before turning back to their food. They tossed the bones into the fire along with the charred skewer and settled down with their backs against the fire-warmed stone.  
  
“Sing me a song?” Kíli requested, packing a small plug of weed into his pipe. “Something about travelling.”  
  
“You’ve been talking to our cousins,” Fíli grumbled as he took a swig from his water skin.  
  
“They speak very highly of you,” Kíli told him. “Made me a little sad to tell you the truth. I feel like I missed out.”  
  
“Alright, I suppose this is one childhood experience it will be easy enough to make up for,” Fíli sighed, searching his memory for something appropriate. He decided on one of the history songs their great-grandmother had favoured. It wasn’t usually taught in Erid Luin so he suspected Kíli had never heard it.  
  
At break of day we find our way  
The road winds on from hall to hall  
With lowering sun the day is done  
At moonlight rise the barn owls call  
  
Zirakzigil!   
Oh Silvertine!   
Once I walked your halls, and called them mine.  
  
At break of day we move away  
The distance grows from hall to hall  
Toward the sun the rivers run  
At Mahal’s call soft sleep will fall  
  
Bundushathûr!  
Oh Cloudyhead!  
Beneath your grey slopes sleep our dead.  
  
At break of day we lost our way  
The fire spread from hall to hall  
Like burning sun, fire, foe, run!  
There was no way to save them all  
  
Barazinbar!  
Oh Redhorn cruel!  
For treasure bright we delved and brought our doom.  
  
At break of day we find our way  
The road winds on from hall to hall  
With lowering sun the day is done  
At moonlight rise the barn owls call  
  
The last note faded away, the sandstone they lent against offering little resonance. Fíli accepted the pipe Kíli handed over with a nod of thanks, filling his mouth and lungs with the fragrant smoke and blowing a smoke ring that was quickly disrupted by the fire.  
  
“I hadn’t heard that one before,” Kíli said after Fíli had handed the pipe back.  
  
“Our great-grandmother used to sing it, a little piece of family history that I thought you should hear,” Fíli explained.  
  
“Thank you.” Kíli knocked the last of the embers from his pipe into the fire and tugged his blue hood over his tangled hair. “I feel like I’ve missed out on so much,” he grumbled.  
  
“Well, it’s not like you’re an old dwarf already,” Fíli teased him, reaching over to his pack to pull out a comb. “You have plenty of time to catch up. Come here, you can’t sleep with your hair in such a state.”  
  
He coaxed Kíli into sitting in front of him so that he could work the comb through the snarls in his hair. “Would you like me to braid it for you?” He asked as he carefully worked his way up through the strands.  
  
“I have a clip,” Kíli said, so quietly Fíli had to lean forward to catch the words. “It just never stays in properly, and then it tugs at my hair and hurts.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure I can do something about that,” Fíli promised as he patiently unpicked what turned out to be a twig. He unravelled the two braids that Kíli wore behind his ears and passed the mithril beads to his brother for safekeeping while he worked. “I feel like I’ve seen those before, not sure where though.”  
  
“They were Uncle Frerin’s,” Kíli said, cupping them in his palm. “Although he wore them in his beard, like you do.”  
  
“Oh, his moustache braids? That’ll be where I remember them from them. I confess, he was on my mind when I chose this style,” Fíli said, his fingers working through the braids as his mind marvelled at the sheer softness of Kíli’s hair. Dwarrow hair was typically coarse and curly, no wonder he had trouble getting braids to stay. “One day I’ll have a mithril set of my own, but for now my beads are silver. The family has a stockpile of mithril jewellery, but it gets shared out from oldest to youngest rather than the other way around.”  
  
“Father’s people are from Khazad-dûm, so I suppose it makes sense that they have mithril. In Erebor, Balin said that it was reserved for the Royal family only,” Kili revealed. “Probably because they had to trade a great deal of gold with the dwarves of the Dwarrowdelf to get it.” He passed the beads back when Fíli tapped on his shoulder, and reached into his pocket for the clip.  
  
“Don’t worry about the clip for now, I’ll see about setting it for you in the morning,” Fíli said, giving into his impulse to embrace Kíli from behind, his smooth hair tickling his cheeks and catching in his beard. “It might jab you in the skull in the middle of the night and it’s going to be hard enough getting a decent night’s sleep as it is.”  
  
They spent the night cuddled together by the glowing embers of the fire, sharing a few sleepy kisses before dropping into sleep. The lands around Erid Luin were considered to be reasonably safe, so they’d decided not to sit watches in favour of getting as much sleep and covering as much distance as possible.  
  
  
  
Two days later, after the sun had burnt off the morning mist, they came across a deep pool shaded by a stand of weeping willows. They expected to reach the Baranduin later that afternoon, but the lure of the cool water was too much to resist and they shed their travel worn clothes with whoops of delight.  
  
The water was stained golden with tannins from the dropped leaves and twigs, but it was cool and refreshing with a bottom of mixed sand and slate. Fíli and Kíli swam a little and instigated a splash war before settling down to the serious business of washing first their clothes and then themselves.  
  
The golden sunlight streamed down through the supple branches of the willows, casting a dappled light over Kíli’s pale skin as he stood in the shallows working a bar of soap into a lather.  
  
“Want me to wash your back?” the younger dwarf offered, raising a suggestive eyebrow. The thought of his slender hands sliding over wet skin was enough to cause Fíli’s cock to twitch against his thigh, apparently undaunted by the cool water that surrounded it.  
  
“All right,” he agreed, trying for causal although he suspected that the flush on his cheeks gave him away.  
  
Kíli slid through the water smoothly, a predatory smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. Fíli tensed despite himself at the first touch, but soon melted as Kíli’s strong fingers dug into his knotted shoulder muscles.  
  
“Your back is a work of art,” the younger dwarf murmured as he pressed his hands down either side of Fíli’s spine. “I want to trace your muscles with my tongue, and then roll you over to give your front the same treatment.”  
  
“Sounds… sounds good,” Fíli gasped, biting his lip as Kíli pressed his own soapy front to Fíli’s back, his hands slipping under Fíli’s arms to caress down his chest, leaving a trail of slippery bubbles behind them.  
  
“May I?” Kíli whispered into his ear, prompting a shiver as his fingers teased the crease at the top of Fíli’s thigh. Fíli looked down to see his own cock, flushed and ready, breaching the surface of the pond. He nodded in acceptance and watched as those slender fingers moved, scratching through his curly blonde hair before curling around him. His hips twitched reflexively - it felt so good, nothing like when he stroked himself - and he couldn’t help but let out a moan as an unmistakeable silky hardness pressed into his cleft.  
  
“Shit, sorry,” Kíli muttered, the water ruffling and splashing as he shifted his stance.  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Fíli begged. “I want you to. Please?”  
  
Kíli moved back in a rush, prompting a small wave of water that submerged Fíli’s cock for a moment and made him twitch at the dual sensations of warm fingers and cool liquid. He lent back into his brother’s embrace and boldly pressed his hips into Kíli’s crotch.   
  
Kíli muffled his own groan into Fíli’s shoulders as he started to move his fingers, dancing the pads along Fíli’s length in a delicious tease until he reached the sensitive tip before providing a firm circle for Fíli to thrust into.  
  
“Not going to last long,” Fíli warned him. Kíli’ response was to reach up with his other hand and pinch lightly at Fíli’s nipple. “Want, ah! Want to return the favour,” he said, twisting his head around as far as he could.   
  
“Turn around then,” Kíli suggested taking a half step back and pulling at Fíli’s shoulder.  
  
It was far from the most graceful manoeuvre as they splashed through the waist deep water, but all thoughts were scattered from Fíli’s mind like autumn leaves when he turned and looked upon his lover, dark eyes blown black with arousal as he gripped Fíli by the hip with one hand and drew their wet erections together with the other.  
  
“Oil might be an idea if we pass a village,” Kíli muttered as he wrapped his long fingers around the both of them together and gave an experimental pump. “Oh Mahal’s balls that’s good.”  
  
Fíli stretched up and moulded their lips together, twining his own blunt fingers through Kíli’s dark hair as he traced the seam of his lips with his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose. A knot in his gut was pulling tighter and tighter and he knew that he couldn’t last long, but he wanted to fall of that ledge together so he held on as best as he could.  
  
Then Kíli added a twist to his movements and the thread snapped and Fíli groaned into his brother’s mouth as he came in pulsing waves over his hard cock.  
  
He rested his forehead on Kíli’s shoulder to help him keep his balance - and give himself a birds eye view - as he batted his narrower hand away and replaced it with his own. The difference was instant, Kíli’s body snapping as tight as his bowstring as he began to let out little broken moans with each stroke.  
  
Fíli slowed down a little, wanting to prolong the experience, and because Kíli unexpectedly whimpered when he realised what was happening, his body straining for release. Still, he didn’t voice a protest, instead accepting whatever Fíli choose to do. Recovering from his own near religious experience, Fíli licked a possessive kiss into Kíli’s mouth and let go of his cock altogether to roll his sensitive stones in the palm of his hand. He pressed two fingers firmly behind his ballsack and Kíli nearly knocked both of them over as he thrust mindlessly into the air.  
  
“Like that, do you?” Fíli broke the kiss to ask.  
  
“Y-yes, I… oh please!”  
  
“Please what?” Fíli asked, dipping his head to lick a broad swipe over Kíli’s nipple.  
  
“Please I… oh I don’t know!” Kíli whined, twisting under his hands. “I want to come but I don’t want to stop.”  
  
“Then come, and we won’t stop,” Fíli promised, his own cock in favour of this plan. He wasn’t sure he had ever really softened after his orgasm and his erection was throbbing in time to the beat of his heart again. He wrapped his fingers loosely around the base of Kíli’s cock, mindful of his rough callouses, and pumped quickly, watching in awed arousal as Kíli arched his back and came like a fountain in a single long stream within five strokes.  
  
Abandoning himself to instinct, Fíli dropped to his knees in the water and licked up the white ejaculate beading on the tip of Kíli’s cock. He knew it would be sensitive, probably too sensitive for comfort, but he just wanted to taste, and as the salty flavour filled his mouth and as he swirled around for more, he realised that Kíli was letting him, the hands on his shoulders clutching close rather than pushing him away.  
  
He pulled back a little to check in, finding Kíli’s dark eyes already fixed on his face. “Is this ok? Too much, too sensitive?”  
  
“Sensitive, but good,” Kíli assured him breathlessly. “Almost too much, but I - but I like it. I’ve done it before, to myself.” The thought of Kíli stroking himself to orgasm and then teasing himself through the aftershocks made Fíli’s reach down and palm his own straining erection as the arousal shot through him.  
  
“I’d like to watch you do that, one day,” he confessed.  
  
“I think that could be arranged,” Kíli said flippantly, closing his eyes in bliss as Fíli closed his lips around his flushed erection. He explored it gently with his lips and tongue, noting what made Kíli sigh and what made him shiver. He reacted particularly well to fingertips caressing his stones as Fíli sucked on the tip, his pleased wail startling two pigeons from their roost in a nearby tree.  
  
Eventually the water became more of a hinderance than a help and the two took themselves to dry off on a grassy bank near to the ponies. Kíli’s skin glistened in the sunlight as he straddled Fíli’s hips and lent down to nibble and lick at his nipples, his wet hair falling in wavy tendrils around his face.  
  
“I want,” he whispered into Fíli’s ear, “to taste you. May I?”  
  
Fíli claimed his lips in a possessive kiss and then fell back onto the warm grass. “You may,” he confirmed. Kíli wriggled his way downward, studied Fíli’s erection for a long moment and then grinned wolfishly before taking him into his mouth. It was like nothing Fíli had ever experienced before, his brief exploration of Kíli earlier not having prepared him in the slightest for being on the receiving end. Kíli sucked and swirled his tongue as his long fingers reached up to tease Fíli’s stones with light touches until he couldn’t tell where the pleasure was coming from anymore, only that it felt good. The pressure built, but he did his best to hold on, until Kíli switched from his balls to the sensitive skin behind them.  
  
“Kee, I’m going to!” he managed to gasp in warning. Kíli hummed his acknowledgement and the new sensation tipped Fíli over the edge. He did his best to keep his hips still and avoid choking his lover but it was hard when all he wanted to do was thrust forward into the warmth of Kíli’s mouth.  
  
Coughing a little, Kíli sat back on his heels with a self satisfied expression on his face and a dripping erection pointed at the sky. “Not bad for a first time, if I do say so myself,” he commented, giving himself a lazy pump.  
  
“Give me a minute and I’ll return the favour,” Fíli promised as he caught his breath.   
  
“Um, I’d actually like to… well, straddle your face,” Kíli confessed, his hand stilling on his cock as he looked at Fíli with uncertain eyes. “Would that… may I?”  
  
Fíli tucked one hand behind his head and gestured for his brother to come closer with the other. “Let’s try it,” he agreed. “If I don’t like it, I’ll say something I promise.”  
  
It took a little manoeuvring and Kíli nearly knelt on his hair by accident, but before long Kíli was braced on hands and knees over Fíli’s head, his smooth cock laying heavy on Fíli’s tongue as the taste of his excitement flooded his mouth.  
  
“Ooooh Mahal and Yavannah, can I move?” Kíli groaned, twitching against Fíli’s teeth. “This isn’t going to take long, I’m too close.”  
  
Remembering how it felt, Fíli hummed his assent and Kíli grumbled an incoherent curse as he thrust gently, obviously trying not to go too deep.  
  
Fíli was enjoying himself. His cock lay, sated and slightly sticky, against his thigh, which meant that he could give his full attention to Kíli, who was trembling slightly as he slowly worked his cock between Fíli’s lips. Giving pleasure was a heady kind of power, he realised, reaching out with his free hand to trace his fingertips across the bare skin he could reach. Kíli groaned, deep and low in his chest as Fíli palmed the round globe of his arse.  
  
“So close,” he gasped, thrusting a little faster although he still trembled with the effort of holding back. The taste in Fíli’s mouth grew stronger and he flicked his tongue across the head as Kíli withdrew, wanting more.  
  
Kíli wailed and juddered forward, his cock pulsing against Fíli’s tongue as he came for the second time that morning, Fíli choking a little as it hit the back of his throat. Still, he kept his hand pressed against Kíli’s arse, not wanting him to withdraw and ruin his own orgasm.  
  
Kíli rolled to the side after a long moment, quivering in every limb to Fíli’s satisfaction, and the two dwarves lay in the sun warmed grass and contemplated the blue sky.  
  
Soon enough they would have to dress and start moving, packing their damp clothes or perhaps draping them across their saddlebags like miss-matched barding, but for now it was enough to just exist, side by side on a warm summer’s day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuzdul translations  
>    
> Khagal'abbad - Blue Mountains (Ered Luin)  
> Nadadith - little brother  
> Khazad-dûm - the Dwarrowdelf  
> Barazinbar - Redhorn  
> Silvertine - Zirakzigil  
> Cloudyhead - Bundushathûr
> 
> All feedback gratefully received and questions either answered or the answer will be worked into the next chapter, if appropriate. I'd love to know what you think!


	5. An Unexpected Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a title like that, you all know what's coming, right?

The sprawling expanse of the Shire was easy to find, a rich country with loamy soil folded within the arms of the downs. The village of Hobbiton was less so. A lot of the crossroads were signposted, which was helpful, but they quickly found that the roads twisted and turned in unexpected ways, and although the residents were polite enough, they weren’t exactly friendly.  
  
There was plenty of wild country to camp in without disturbing the hobbit farmers, of which there seemed to be an uncommonly large number, and there were plenty of mushrooms and early berries to scavenge to add to their dwindling supplies of road food. Still, Fíli had hoped for a series of comfortable inns and a hot bath to soothe his aching legs, for although he was now a significantly better rider than he had been at the start of the journey - and Kíli’s knife work had improved to the point where he was sparring more than instructing - he still had a long way to go before he was completely comfortable spending all day in the saddle.  
  
They eventually made their way the correct village, a picturesque place with a water mill and an inn that was happy to serve them and knew of Tharkûn, although the hobbits all called him Gandalf.  
  
“I wonder how many names he has?” Kíli said idly as he packed his pipe with a variety of weed the hobbit behind the bar swore was the best in the Shire.  
  
“I think the Elves have a different one for him, although I’m not sure what it is. M-something, maybe. How’s the leaf?”  
  
“Packs nicely,” Kíli said approvingly. “Pass me your matches, let’s give it a go.”  
  
They were sitting on a carved wooden bench outside the inn for their post-dinner smoke, as Hobbits seemed to smoke outside in general, and it was a practise that the two Dwarves were happy to take up. It was a habit shared by a lot of Dwarves after all, particularly those who lived in the more poorly ventilated halls deeper in the mountain, not wanting to smoke themselves out of their own rooms or offend their dwarrowdams.  
  
“Did you ask Mister Proudfoot about Mr Baggins when you got the ale?” Kíli asked, taking a swig from his tankard. It was also wood, and very prettily carved with an acorn motif. There seemed to be far more wood than metal in the shire, for a folk that carved their homes underground like sensible folk, but then perhaps there hadn’t been a whole lot of iron in the ground.  
  
“I did, he said it was across the water, over there,” Fíli gestured with his mug. “I think the hill in question is that nice high one with the lights winding up it? Ah, something about being shot? Batshot row I think he called it. Walk up the row and you come to the hill and then the hobbit hole in question has a green door.”  
  
“Gandalf will have marked it somehow, I expect,” Kíli said, puffing on his pipe. “This is rather good leaf. I will go to the market and get another pouch or two in the morning.”  
  
The two dwarves smoked and drank late into the evening, and as a result of that - and the comfortable beds that the hobbits provided - they slept rather later than they intended, waking just in time to eat a hearty lunch of vegetable soup, rabbit pie and bread, and almost missing the market entirely.  
  
“Shit, that’s Balin,” Kíli hissed as they were leaving the tobacco stand. They ducked behind a large display of pumpkins and cabbages to consider their options. Dwarven boots made a very distinctive sound in a village where most of the residents chose to go barefoot as a matter of course - and what large and hairy feet they were! - and it was simple enough to crouch and listen until the thudding footsteps moved on.  
  
“Are you all right?” asked a bright voice. Fíli looked up to find a golden haired hobbit peering down at them between two pumpkins. “Are you in trouble with the other dwarves?”  
  
“Avoiding relations,” Kíli said promptly with a sunny smile. “I’m sure you understand.”  
  
The hobbit winked at them. “I certainly do,” she confirmed. “Esmeralda Boffin, at your service. Hide behind the pumpkins for as long as you like.”  
  
“Fíli of the house of Narvi and Kíli of the house of Durin, at yours,” Fíli said with as much dignity as he could muster given the situation.   
  
“If you could tell us when they’ve left the market, that would be supremely helpful,” Kíli added.  
  
Esmerelda nodded her acceptance and took up station to the left of the cart, her full skirts concealing them from the rest of the row. “What brings dwarves to Hobbiton?” She asked quietly, smiling at a group of young hobbits who bounced past, talking excitedly in high voices. “We don’t get many, begging your pardon. Not around here.”  
  
“We’re to meet at the house of a Mister Baggins, according to Thar-Gandalf,” Fíli quickly corrected himself.  
  
“I’m sure it was Boggins,” Kíli disagreed.  
  
“There are both Bagginses and Bogginses in the Shire,” Esmerelda said unhelpfully.   
  
“Well, it was Bag End, I’m sure of that,” Fíli said firmly. “Balin said so, in the meeting.”  
  
“You’re probably right,” Kíli agreed. “I have long been practised in tuning him out.”  
  
Esmerelda giggled behind her hands. “As entertaining as this is, master Dwarves, the market is now clear and there is nothing stopping you from being on your way. If it’s Bag End you’re seeking, it’s the other side of the water. If you hurry, you might just make it at tea time.”  
  
Knowing that, if Balin had also chosen to stable his pony at the Inn, he would immediately recognise Myrtle and Minty, Fíli and Kíli made their way over the bridge by the mill as quickly as they could. It sounded like Bag End was a fair distance away from the village, although perhaps tea and dinner were two separate things in the Shire? They did supposedly eat seven meals in a day after all.  
  
The lane continued on and up, cut through a patchwork of green fields, one of which contained a beautiful mature oak tree. As they rounded a corner they spotted the familiar figure of Balin ahead of them, stomping up the hill.  
  
“Hide!” Kíli hissed, dragging Fíli behind a prickly hawthorn hedge.  
  
“Wasn’t Balin in favour of us coming on the quest?” Fíli complained as he untangled one of his braids from a persistent thorny twig.  
  
“Not the point,” Kíli said in a fierce whisper. “Keep your voice down! We’re completing the first part of this journey alone and I don’t want him spoiling the end of it!”  
  
He looked so adorably put out with a frown divot between his eyebrows and his lower lip protruding a little that Fíli gave into the urge press a quick kiss, first to the end of his sharp Durin nose and then a second to his lips.  
  
“We won’t have much privacy for a while,” he explained when Kíli raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.  
  
“You never know, we could develop a passion for gathering firewood together,” Kíli suggested before kissing him back.  
  
“How long before Balin gets far enough ahead do you think?”  
  
Kíli peered around the edge of the hedge. “He’s walking really slowly, we’ll be here ages,” he complained.  
  
Fíli shook his head at his short-sightedness and looked around, pulling Kíli a few steps down the hill to a secluded bank covered in wildflowers and busy honeybees who probably belonged to the yellow hives he could see two fields over.  
  
“Might as well make the most of the time we have,” he said cheerfully as he pushed Kíli down to kiss him amongst the flowers.  
  


  
  
They reached Bag End as the sun set, painting the land in shades of red and gold and the sky in streaks of orange and purple. Tharkûn's rune shone blue against the green painted door of the Hobbit hole at the top of the hill.  
  
“This must be the place!” Fíli said as he pushed open the wooden gate. “He has a lot of flowers in his garden, doesn’t he?”  
  
“But is it Baggins or Boggins?” Kíli fretted. “Esmerelda was lovely but she didn’t really help solve our disagreement.  
  
“I’m sticking with Baggins,” Fíli decided. “The sign on the letterbox says Bag End, after all. It would be silly for the hobbit to be named Boggins and live in a place called Bag End.”  
  
“All of the hobbit names are ridiculous,” Kíli argued. “I’m still not sure.”  
  
“Well you’ll have to make a snap decision when he opens the door in about a minute then, won’t you,” Fíli teased, reaching out to knock.  
  
The door swung open to reveal a bright passageway paved with brown tiles and a flustered hobbit in a yellow waistcoat with a tumble of honey coloured curls on his head and feet.  
  
“Fíli…”  
  
“And Kíli-”  
  
“At your service!” they said in chorus, bowing together. The hobbit gaped at them and Fíli rolled his eyes as Kíli pushed past him into the home, cheerfully mis-naming the hobbit he was sure was named Baggins.  
  
It turned out that Dwalin had arrived as well, and both of the elder dwarves seemed unsurprised to see them, putting them to work moving tables and chairs together in the long passageway that wound through the hill. It seemed that the hobbit hadn’t been set up for visitors at all, let alone a large party of dwarves, and Fíli wondered if perhaps Tharkûn had told him the wrong day entirely as he ran back and forth with his cheeks flushed and his curls in disarray, apologising and fussing over the placement of the furniture.

There was a moment of awkwardness when he was alone with Dwalin in the pantry, the remains of the black eye Dís had given him still faintly visible underneath his tattooed skin, but after a moment of the burly dwarf staring menacingly at him as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, he realised what must have happened.

“You had no idea how to introduce yourself, did you?”

Dwalin grimaced. “Aye.”

“And the longer it went on, the worse it would have been to do so?” Fíli asked, wanting to confirm his theory.

“Aye. I… I’m sorry laddie.”

Fíli frowned at him. “I thought they didn’t care, you know. Because no one visited after uncle Frerin.”

Dwalin paled dramatically, the bruising standing out around his eye. “No, no never that,” he gasped. “I just… you were so happy, lad. And I… I’m not good with dwarflings. I scare them.”

Fíli nodded. “And later?”

Dealing shuffled uncomfortably. “Thorin doesn’t know how to let things go,” he said in a rush. “It was better that he thought you wanted nothing to do with him. You didn’t remember living there after all.”

Fili picked up a platter filled with meat pies and a jar of pickles. “All right,” he said.

“All right?” Dwalin echoed hesitantly.

“Your reasoning seems… you were trying to protect me,” Fíli struggle to explain. “I… accept that you were trying to act in my best interests. I hold no grudge.”

Dwalin huffed out a relieved sigh and added a jar of jam to Fíli’s stack. “Thank you Fíli.”

“Can’t help you with the rest of the family, sorry.”

Dwalin scoffed at that. “I fight my own battles,” he declared.   
  
Fíli was biting into a rather delicious meat pie when there was a hammering at the door and the five of them froze for a moment before the hobbit pattered off to answer it. Fíli had an odd feeling of dread settle into his stomach as he considered who might be on the other side of such an impassioned knock.  
  
His gut turned out to be more prophetic than previously suspected as shortly after the hobbit vanished down the passage a roar split the air.  
  
“Is he here? I’m going to throttle him!”  
  
“Another ale, Balin?” Kíli said quickly, gathering the half full mugs and beating a retreat into the pantry.  
  
“Traitor!” Fíli hissed after him. Dwalin patted his shoulder with a heavy hand.  
  
“Time to face the music lad,” he said unhelpfully. “Thorin will be pleased to see you at least.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s Thorin at the door,” Fíli protested, slipping out from behind the table as his uncles rounded the corner. As he had expected, they pulled him into a group hug before Bofur shook him by the shoulders so hard that his teeth rattled.  
  
“What were you thinking, heading into the wilds alone?” he demanded as Bifur patted him on the back. “You don’t know the first thing about bushcraft!”  
  
“I wasn’t alone,” Fíli said, meeting Kíli’s eyes as the younger dwarf peered around the pantry doorway. “And Kíli knew enough for both of us.”  
  
“I might have known you had everything to do with this mad plan!” Bofur growled, rounding on Kíli who pushed a mug of beer in front of him defensively.  
  
The move disarmed Bofur, who on being presented with a full mug did the only sensible thing and accepted it. It was a lot harder for him to play the offended party with foam in his moustache and a properly wetted throat after all. Kíli handed the other mugs to Bombur and Bifur for good measure, and retreated back into the pantry for more.  
  
By the time he emerged again Fíli had managed to get them seated at the table with full plates in front of them and the lecture seemed to have been postponed for now.  
  
The hobbit settled onto a stool in a corner of the passage and nibbled on a scone, watching with wary eyes as the dwarves ate. Fíli kept an eye on him, worried that they were somehow offending their host. He looked around the table, seeing that everyone was drinking deeply and clearing their plates with every sign of enjoyment and wondered what was troubling the hobbit. The dwarves were making it as clear as anything that the feast was appreciated.  
  
Another knock on the door sent the little chap running for the door again, to return with five more dwarves and Gandalf, who towered over all other people’s present and had to keep on ducking to avoid the chandelier. They now numbered fourteen and were waiting only for Thorin, and Fíli and Kíli were sent further into the hobbit’s home in search of more chairs.  
  
“Well, that could have gone better,” Kíli muttered as they looked into a room that smelt strongly of pipeweed and found a padded leather bench. “This will do for two of us, right?”  
  
“Let’s see how heavy it is. It could have gone worse,” Fíli grunted as he lifted on end. “It’ll move easily enough, it must be hollow. “It was a nice move with the ale.”  
  
“I panicked,” Kíli confessed. "Our uncle Bofur has quite a glare on him. And then I thought Dwalin might thump me for giving away his ale like that."  
  
“Bombur will have adopted you as an extra child by the end of the evening, and Bofur will follow suit,” Fíli predicted. “Ask his opinion on the food or something. And uncle Bifur already likes you, he was the first one who wanted to come on the quest. How’s your Khuzdul?”  
  
“Better than my Iglishmêk, I’m not a very good scholar,” Kíli confessed.  
  
“I suppose we have a better incentive to learn it in our hall,” Fíli mused as they carried the bench back towards the party. “Uncle Bifur tells the best stories, once you’re fluent enough to understand them.”  
  
“Kidhuzurâl, you must try this cheese,” Bombur said as soon as they’d returned, reaching out and pulling Fíli onto the seat next to him. “Kíli, you too my lad. You’re growing dwarrows after all.”  
  
“Kidhuzurâl?” Kíli mouthed as he obediently sat and accepted the plate that Bombur had put together for him, piled high with cheese, crackers and slices of crisp apple.  
  
Fíli shrugged, his mouth full of delicious sharp cheese. “Family nickname,” he said once he’d swallowed. “That is good cheese, uncle. What else have you found that’s worth trying?”  
  
“The pies are most acceptable,” Bombur told him, passing him a slice. “This one is pork and a fruit called an apricot, which I have not come across before. Our esteemed hobbit host tells me that they grow on trees.”   
  
He waved the hobbit over, an engaged him in a conversation about the orchards in the shire, which seemed to settle their twitchy host in a way that the others hadn’t quite seemed to manage.  
  
Fíli finally managed to catch that his first name was Bilbo, which he had been wondering about since their bungled introduction at the door. Little Bilbo was extremely knowledgeable about things that grew and he wondered if that was his Craft, or if Hobbits even had Crafts.  
  
Finally all the food was gone, and after a spirited cleaning session in which Bofur unbent enough to instigate the washing up song he had made up when Fíli and Litr were young - with a few additional lines in honour of the occasion - Fíli was about to suggest an after dinner smoke when a loud thudding at the door heralded the arrival of his missing uncle and it was time for business.  
  
Thorin seemed unsurprised to see Fíli and Kíli sitting together next to Bombur, but there was a pleased glint in his eyes all the same.  
  
“Your mother is not all that displeased about Minty, namadul,” he said, nodding to Balin as he accepted a bowl of soup and a bread roll. “I think she had her suspicions as soon as you announced the trip.”  
  
“We had clear skies and smooth roads, uncle,” Kíli said quietly. “And a chance to be brothers, before the quest started.”  
  
“It is a chance that none should begrudge you,” Thorin said with a small smile. “I’m pleased that you have had this chance to travel together. Now, to business!”  
  
Gandalf brought forward a map and a key, and Fíli’s suspicions about their host were confirmed - Tharkûn had given him very little information indeed and the hobbit wasn’t at all decided about going on this quest. The wizard seemed to see something in the soft little creature that Bilbo himself didn’t, and although he seemed to puff up a little in response to Thorin’s dismissive attitude, Fíli was certain that he wouldn’t get on at all well in the Wild.  
  
He wasn’t all that impressed with his uncle’s treatment of their host and thought hard about saying something in Bilbo’s defence, but uncle Bifur caught his eye and shook his head sharply so he sat back and listened instead.  
  
It turned out that Thorin wasn’t the uncle that he should have been worried about after all, as it was Uncle Bofur who caused the little creature to pass out. Typically, that meant that Bilbo now had friends for life in Bifur and Bombur, who were grateful for this new transgression to remind their relation about at every reasonable opportunity.  
  
“They’re going to be talking about this when we’re all white haired and creaky,” Bofur predicted gloomily, having decided that Fíli’s company was the lesser of two evils.  
  
“You didn’t all have to come,” Fíli muttered, knowing that he wasn’t likely to get another chance to make his feelings known. Bofur cuffed him lightly on the back of the head.  
  
“Couldn’t let you go wandering off across Middle Earth with a bunch of strangers, even if you are related to a few of them. Someone has to come along and keep an eye on you young ones, and you know Bombur’s terrible on his own.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Kíli said plaintively, taking a biscuit from the plate in the middle of the table.  
  
“Basically our uncles have a strangely co-dependant relationship, and as soon as it was certain that one of them was coming, it was inevitable that they all would,” Fíli sighed. In truth, he wasn’t all that upset that they had decided to come along, although he wasn’t especially looking forward to the inevitable nagging. Bombur was the best cook in all of Erid Luin after all, ask anyone, and Bifur and Bofur were both strong, capable dwarves.  
  
“So, you’re family,” Bofur was saying gruffly, his eyes on Kíli. “Our missing nadadul. Guess that means that I should come up with a nickname for you as well.”  
  
“Er… I… ok?” Kíli agreed, turning pleading eyes onto Fíli who shrugged.  
  
“Unless you already have one?” Bofur asked, taking a sip of his third ale.  
  
“Well, sometimes they used to call me kurkarith,” Kíli said quietly. “But not for a while now.”  
  
“Well, that’s nonsense,” Bofur said seriously. “A nickname is a nickname for life, unless it’s changed for something better. Fíli will be kidhuzurâl until he’s old and white and his beard reaches his knees, and even then if I’m still around I’ll still call him that.”  
  
Kíli grinned. “I’m glad to have met you,” he said honestly. “I… you’re very different from Ma and Thorin, and I begin to realise why I didn’t always quite fit sometimes.”  
  
Bofur reached out and ruffled Kíli’s dark hair. “It’s nice to meet you as well,” he said. “Bifur and Bombur feel the same, but then Bombur always was a soft spot for young ones, it’s why he has so many of his own and is planning on more.”  
  
“What does Skirfyr have to say about that?” Fíli asked, taking a cookie.  
  
“Oh, she wants a big family too,” Bofur confirmed. “I think it’s half the reason why she married him to be honest.”  
  
“Everyone into the parlour,” Balin called. “Our host has taken to his room, and we shall play a little music to round off this pleasant evening.”  
  
“If Mr Baggins is trying to sleep, shouldn’t we be quiet?” Kíli asked.  
  
“Shut up and sing,” Dwalin growled, pushing Kíli ahead of him into the parlour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Kidhuzurâl - golden one  
> Iglishmêk - Gesture-code/sign language.  
> Namadul - Sister’s son  
> Nadadul - Brother’s son  
> Kurkarith - Little Raven


	6. An Unlikely Addition

Fíli was astonished when, after passing out the previous evening and proclaiming his distaste for adventure when he came to, the hobbit came racing after them with a pack on his back and the contract clenched tight in his fist.  
  
Still, it indicated either hidden depths or the sort of foolishness he could get behind, and he was determined to be nice to the fourteenth member of their company. He and Bofur sandwiched the uncomfortable Baggins between them, Bofur going as far as to rip his shirt once Mr Baggins realised that he had forgotten to pack a handkerchief. Kíli was up at the front, riding between Thorin and Balin - the latter seemed to be doing his level best to talk his ear off - so Fili couldn't include him in his mission to make the hobbit more comfortable, and he had no wish to hear of the joys of Erebor, or whatever it was that Balin was going on about.   
  
Every now and again Kíli cast a wistful look back over his shoulder, but Fíli stood firm against his pleading eyes. He was busy talking to Bilbo, and they had realised before they had arrived at Bag End that they wouldn't get to spend much time together on the road - and that had been before Bifur, Bofur and Bombur had descended.  
  
“Should we teach him some Iglishmêk?” Bofur asked in an undertone. “Just in case Bifur wants to talk to him? He’s noticed that our metal-impaired relative doesn’t speak Westron.”  
  
“Does he want to learn it?” Fíli countered. “You and I know that Bifur is the best of us really, but to outsiders he’s a rather wild looking dwarf with his braids out of order and an axe in his head.”  
  
Bofur cocked his head to one side as he considered his cousin. “I still think it’s worth asking,” he decided.  
  
“I never said it wasn’t!” Fíli protested.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Bilbo asked. He was still sitting in the saddle like a sack of flour, but he seemed to have gained enough confidence to pay attention to more than Daisy’s ears.  
  
“Uncle Bifur doesn’t speak Westron,” Fíli explained. “We were wondering if you wanted to learn Igli-uh, gesture speak? In case you needed to talk to him. Or him to you.”  
  
“Bifur is your Uncle?” Bilbo frowned. “I thought Thorin was your Uncle.”  
  
Fíli sighed. “He is. I actually have four uncles on this trip, and I’m related somehow to Balin and Dwalin as well, but I grew up with Bifur, Bofur and Bombur in the family hall. They’re technically my father’s cousins.”  
  
“Oh I see,” Bilbo said nodding seriously. He noted Fíli’s sceptical look and wrinkled his nose at him. “I’ll have you know that Hobbits have extremely large and complex families with as many as twelve fauntlings to a couple, as well as multiple generations living in the same smial. I can cope with your Dwarven ancestry well enough!”  
  
Fíli held up his hands. “I believe you!”  
  
Bofur, grinning cheerfully under his beloved travelling hat, swooped in to rescue him and change the subject. “So, are you interested? In learning the gesture code?”  
  
Bilbo looked around at the quiet woods. “Well, it would be something to do I suppose.”  
  
Fíli peered up to the front of the line as a thought occurred to him. “Do you think Thorin will mind us teaching someone who isn’t a dwarf?”  
  
Bofur shrugged. “It’s not like we’re teaching him Khuzdul.”   
  
  
  
It turned out that Thorin did mind, and the bellow that split the camp when he saw Bilbo make the gesture for ‘thank you’ when Bifur handed him his luncheon ration startled Kíli into tripping backwards over a log.  
  
“Who amongst this company has dared share our ways with an outsider?!” He demanded.  
  
“We did,” Bofur said defiantly from his seat next to Fíli. “And Bilbo Baggins is not an outsider, he is a member of this company. Signed the contract and everything.“  
  
“How dare you?” Thorin demanded, stomping across the camp to loom over Bofur. “You had no right!”  
  
“Last I checked, Iglishmêk didn’t belong to the line of Durin,” Bofur said calmly. “I asked if he wanted to learn, to talk to Bifur, and he accepted.”  
  
“He has no business learning it!”  
  
”He’s a liability if he can’t understand all other members of the group,” Fíli pointed out. “Now if we’re in a situation where we’d normally use Iglishmêk, we won’t have to speak to him and potentially give ourselves away.”  
  
“You stay out of this,” Thorin snarled at him. “You are not part of this discussion.”  
  
“I am,” Fíli countered him. “I helped teach Bilbo, I wanted him to be able to speak to uncle Bifur as well. It might not have been my idea, but I supported it.”  
  
Kíli was shaking his head behind Thorin’s back, but Fíli stood firm next to his uncle. He wasn’t going to let Thorin, he who would be King under the Mountain, intimidate him and it was best that his relative learnt that early on. It wouldn’t take them too long to journey back to Erid Luin from where they were camped after all.  
  
Bombur’s familiar bulk appeared, solid against Fíli’s back. “You discuss something with one of us, you take it up with all of us,” he said quietly. “Better you learn that now. We didn’t answer your call, you know.”  
  
Thorin took a step back, his eyes wide and confused. “What?” He breathed. “Then why did you come?”  
  
Fíli felt the familiar pressure of two hands landing heavy on his shoulders and he stood tall under their support.  
  
“For Fíli,” Bofur said simply.  
  
“Kidhuzurâlê,” Bifur added, coming up beside his cousins.  
  
Thorin looked so taken aback that Fíli would have smiled if the situation hadn’t been so serious. He had made some pretty speeches around the table in Bag End about loyalty and their company being worth more than an army, but now he was realising that nearly a quarter of the group had their own agenda. Perhaps Fíli should let him know that he had come for Kíli, not for Erebor or for him?   
  
“I need to think on this,” Thorin announced before Fíli had finished deciding, spinning on his heel and striding away. “Move out! We have a lot of ground to cover!” He bellowed to no one in particular.  
  
“Mahal’s Balls,” Kíli swore as he dashed over. “That could have gone better.”  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Best he knows now, when it’s still easy to turn back,” he said lightly, echoing Fíli’s earlier train of thought.  
  
“ _He makes a lot of assumptions_ ,” Bifur growled in khuzdul. “ _Not a good trait in a king._ ”  
  
“Maybe if we’d both grown up in his halls it would be different,” Fíli shrugged, reaching out to brush leaves out of Kíli’s hair. “Perhaps Erebor and his ideals would be more important to me. Maybe our uncles wouldn’t even have come, who knows.”  
  
Kíli looked thoughtful as they mounted the ponies and set out after Balin and Thorin. Bilbo was riding next to Bombur, talking about cooking, and Dwalin had his pony a half length behind Thorin so the pair didn’t see the harm in riding together for the afternoon.  
  
“I feel like I’ve missed out,” the dark haired dwarf confessed, looking at Myrtle’s ears. “I’m not sure if I want you to have grown up with me, or for me to have grown up with you.”  
  
“You definitely want to have grown up with me,” Fíli said cheerfully. “Our father’s family is just that - a family. Maybe if Thorin had unbent enough all three of you could have moved into the Family Hall, we could have excavated a few more chambers, the rock is solid. Then you would know all the tales of Khazad-dûm, and you would practise your craft and be happy with the life in Khagal'abbad.”  
  
Kíli looked stricken rather than reassured, which was not what Fíli had been going for. “You were happy in Erid Luin,” he whispered. “And now you’re here, miserable and arguing with Thorin, and it’s all because of me!”  
  
“Hey now, no, no Kíli, kurkarith, that’s not right! I chose to come on this quest.”  
  
Kíli rubbed a hand over his face. “Because of me.”  
  
“No, because of me,” Fíli said sternly. “Because of what I wanted, what I still want.” He dropped his voice to a whisper in case one of the others was listening in. ”You wake parts of me that have always been sleeping, my whole life.”  
  
“Me too,” Kíli confessed, gifting him with a shy smile although his eyes were still troubled. Fíli longed to reassure him properly, but hugging was hard when the two people in question were riding ponies and slipping off into the woods would be severely frowned upon, so he had to fall back on words. Words had never really been his strong suit.  
  
“I’m sorry that us coming on the quest has made you feel like this,” he tried, feeling that an apology wouldn’t go amiss.  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Kíli replied automatically. “It’s just a little tricky, to see what might have been. You’re so… easy with them, you know? And the way that they pull around you as a family it’s… it’s something new to see.”  
  
Fíli chewed on his lip, wondering how to respond to that. His first reaction was to dismiss the observation, as he didn’t think that there was anything all that unusual - lots of Dwarrow families acted as his did. But that wasn’t the real point, was it? The point was that Kíli’s didn’t, and he was suddenly seeing a possibility that he hadn’t even known about before.  
  
“You should go ride with Uncle Bifur,” he decided. “Ask him to tell you some tales of Khazad-dûm. Tell him that I sang you the three peaks song and that you’d like to know more about the family history.”  
  
Kíli looked at him in confusion. “But I…”  
  
Fíli decided that subtlety could roll down the mountain for all he cared and lent across to take Kíli’s hand, thanking Mahal that he’d tightened Minty’s girth adequately before they’d set off, as the saddle lurched under him at the movement. He tucked Kíli’s slender fingers between his own and squeezed gently. “We can’t change the past, the currents of time are too strong, but we can take action now. You’re wistful for a childhood that you didn’t receive, so regain it now,” he urged. “Talk to our uncles, learn the family history that they deem important. I promise you, none of it mentions Erebor so you won’t be bored.”  
  
“But what if he- uncle Bifur doesn’t want to be bothered?” Kíli asked.  
  
Fíli laughed at the thought, pleased when the sound caused Kíli to smile as well. “Uncle Bifur, pass up the chance to tell a story? Never!” he declared.  
  
  
  
Once Kíli was riding next to Bifur and the rumblings of Khuzdul filled the air around them, Fíli turned his attention to the next problem on his list. Thorin.  
  
He tentatively kneed Minty forward, relieved when she obediently picked up her pace. By the time they reached the Misty Mountains he might even resemble a proficient rider, he reflected with relief.  
  
Thorin and Dwalin had been deep in conversation, but they fell silent as he approached, watching him with carefully blank expressions. “I would have words with my uncle,” he said to both of them, hoping that that would be enough for Dwalin to drop back and give them some privacy.  
  
Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a long look, before Dwalin nodded and urged his pony forward to ride beside his older brother, currently consulting one of the many maps he had in his saddlebags. Fíli found that he had decidedly mixed feelings about the privacy he had hoped for. He had no idea how to start.  
  
“What did you wish to speak about?” Thorin asked once the silence had stretched for a few uncomfortable minutes.  
  
“I feel that I should be honest with you,” Fíli managed, keeping his eyes on the horizon rather than looking at the most intimidating of his relations. “And yet I am afraid that this honesty will cause you pain.”  
  
They had the same eyes, he realised as he turned to look at Thorin. A deep blue, like the sky as it darkened from sunset into night. It was striking, seeing that colour in the midst of Thorin’s dark braids. Nothing like Kíli’s eyes, which were a warm brown that reminded Fíli of polished walnut.  
  
“I would always wish my nephews to be honest with me,” Thorin told him. “Do not concern yourself with my pain.”  
  
“You are family,” Fíli corrected him gently. “Your pain is my pain.”  
  
Thorin looked taken aback by that, and Fíli caught another glimpse of what Kíli’s childhood must have been like. No wonder he looked at Bifur, Bofur and Bombur like they were intriguing puzzles that he wanted to play with.  
  
“I know little of Erebor,” he said, figuring that it was better to start at somewhere close to the beginning. “Narvi and their creations are honoured in our halls, and the old songs we sing are songs of Khazad-dûm. We don’t - I mean, Khazad-dûm is lost to Durin’s Bane. We do not talk of regaining it, not after loosing Grandfather and his brothers in Azanulbizar. I was happy with my life in Khagal'abbad. I found my craft, and I had my family around me.”  
  
“So why did you come?” Thorin rasped. It sounded like he was doing his best not to be accusatory, but Fíli flinched regardless at the pain and confusion in his question.  
  
“For Kíli,” he said simply. “For the brother I don’t remember. Because 'family are important' is the first lesson that I was taught. For you, in part, uncle I don’t recall. Can I tell you a truth?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
“I remember uncle Frerin. I keep on hoping to see him in you,” Fíli said quietly. “But glimpses come rarely. You tilt your head the same way when you listen, did you know that?”  
  
Thorin shook his head. “I shall tell you a truth in return," he said hesitantly. "I see him in you, and it makes my heart ache for the day when we are reunited in Mahal’s halls. I hope in time to see you for yourself, Fíli, not as a shadow of my nadadith. Perhaps if you had not gone to live with your father’s kin things would be different. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Fíli replied, daring to reach out and press his hand to Thorin’s arm. “I had a wonderful childhood. I was happy, I am happy.”  
  
“I saw you every day, when you were small,” Thorin told him, a strange nostalgic smile playing across his lips. “You could light up a room with your laugh, and Frerin made it his duty to make you laugh long and often. Ûrzudith, we called you, Ûrzudithê. Once you had left for the halls of your father, our hall was a darker place.”  
  
“Why didn’t you visit?” Fíli asked, the question that had been playing on his mind bursting out before he could help himself. “After uncle Frerin died, why did no one else come and see me?”  
  
Thorin hung his head. “I… there is no excuse,” he said bitterly. “Dis, she could not bear the thought of seeing you only to leave you again. And I… I was so uncertain, for Frerin had always been your favourite and I was worried that you would not recognise me, and I could not bear the thought that… so Dwalin offered, and each month he came to the door to tell us that you were well and happy and growing into a fine Dwarf. We had no idea that he wasn’t actually speaking to you, you know.”  
  
Fíli shrugged. “Until Balin came to talk to me, I thought you’d all forgotten me,” he said honestly, looking into Thorin’s pained eyes. “It’s all right, I had family, it’s not like I was an orphan begging in a corner like those children in the villages of men. Not that that would ever happen to a dwarf. Or a hobbit, it seems. Which brings us back to the original question - Mr Baggins.”  
  
Thorin frowned. “I do not like it, but I understand why you did it,” he said stiffly. “I should be thanking you for seeing the strategic opportunity, I suppose.”  
  
Fíli laughed at him, despite himself. As Thorin turned to stare at him with an awestruck expression he laughed harder, doubling over in his saddle. Ahead of them Balin and Dwalin halted their ponies for a step, but Thorin gestured them forward as Fíli continued to chuckle, grasping at his reigns.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just- you know that I haven’t been taught strategy and politics and whatever else you’ve been stuffing Kíli full of, right? The strategy thing was an argument I came up with on the spot when you were shouting at Uncle Bofur, it wasn’t why I did it.”  
  
Thorin bristled with outrage, but the grin on Fíli's face seemed to soften his anger. He took a deep breath and resettled his reigns, running the brown leather through his hands. “Then why did you do it? Share the secrets of our people with an outsider?”  
  
“A member of this company, Uncle,” Fíli reminded him. “Not an outsider. And I did it, well, because uncle Bifur deserves to be able to communicate with everyone he travels with, even though I know he can’t be understood by everyone he meets. He was the first of us to really want to come, you know.”  
  
But Thorin was frowning back down the line, to where Kíli and Bifur rode side by side, the older Dwarf talking animatedly in Kuzdul as he wove whatever tale he had decided to tell. Kíli was obviously fascinated, his lips parted in a delighted grin as he hung on every word.  
  
“He’s a storyteller?”  
  
“The best,” Fíli said firmly. “Perhaps you should get to know the dwarrows in this company, Uncle, as you’re leading us.”  
  
Thorin gave him a sharp look, before reaching out slowly, giving Fili time to duck, and ruffling his golden hair. “Perhaps I will, nephew,” he said, a small smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “You give good advice.”  
  
  
  
On the third day out from Hobbiton they made camp for the evening by the tottering remains of a farmhouse. Fíli and Kíli volunteered to watch the ponies as the other dwarrows put the camp together, eager for a bit of privacy after several long days in the saddle.  
  
They finished brushing them down quickly, sending each to a grassy meadow on the edge of the forest once they were done, thankful that each dwarf was in charge of their own tack so they only had to worry about the baggage ponies and their own. Fíli drew buckets of water from the well to fill the collapsible leather trough they used when there wasn’t a stream nearby, leaving Kíli to see to the last three ponies by himself.  
  
They both completed their tasks at roughly the same time, and settled down at the edge of the woods to watch the ponies graze happily, tearing up large mouthfuls of lush green grass. They were careful to pick a spot hidden from the main camp by an out of control bank of berry bushes, falling down side by side with happy sighs.  
  
“It’s not that I don’t like travelling with the others,” Kíli said in a low whisper. “Having help sharing the chores is good, but oh the arguments!”  
  
“Is it as bad when you’re playing caravan guard?”  
  
Kíli shrugged, his shoulder brushing up against Fíli. “Yes and no,” he said after a moment of contemplation. “Fewer arguments, but the gossip is just as bad.”  
  
After one last careful look around to ensure that their only witnesses had four hooves, a mane and a tail, Fíli rolled over to pin his brother between his elbows. “Gossip, huh?”   
  
Kíli grinned and wriggled a little, grinding their hips together. “Gossip,” he confirmed. “Who pissed off the caravan master on the last route, who has a problem with their ale, who is screwing who.”  
  
“Hmmm, the last one sounds interesting,” Fíli growled, bending his head to capture Kíli’s soft lips with his own. Kíli’s hands wrapped around his arse, pulling them together from chest to knee.  
  
“I’m afraid I didn’t pay all that much attention,” Kíli gasped between kisses. Fíli could feel him, hard in his breeches, and he wanted to touch and to taste.  
  
With a second quick glance around he moved his hand south, cupping his fingers over the bulge at Kíli’s groin and massaging firmly, catching the resulting moan with his lips.  
  
“Shhh,” he cautioned, one hand working at the laces. “Is this all right?”  
  
“So all right,” Kíli gasped in a broken whisper. “Mahal, Fíli, touch me please!”  
  
Fíli finally got the infernal laces loose and dipped his hand inside his brother’s undergarments to wrap his calloused fingers around steel sheathed in silk. Kíli bit at his lips as he started to gently pump. “I’ve wanted you all day,” he confessed, rubbing his thumb over the tip.  
  
“I’ve wanted you since Bag End,” Kíli groaned. “Not… not going to last long. What about you?”  
  
“You just lay back and enjoy it,” Fíli instructed, looking down to see the flushed head of Kíli’s erection emerging from the tangle of cotton and leather. “Can you be quiet?”  
  
“Yes,” Kíli whispered.  
  
Fíli shifted in the long grass, turning so that his head was in Kíli’s lap. Long fingered hands sank into his hair as he took Kíli’s length into his mouth and started to suck, tasting cotton and musk. He was hard and leaking inside his breeches, but that mattered less than Kíli’s muffled mewls and groans as he worked the younger dwarf towards his peak. Soon Kíli was thrusting into his mouth, little aborted movements as he did his best not to hit the back of Fíli’s throat and make him choke, and the blond knew that it wouldn’t be long. He palmed himself though the leather of his trousers and groaned, low and long at the sensation.  
  
The vibration tipped Kíli over the edge and he spilled in Fíli’s mouth with a series of stuttering jerks, one hand over his mouth to muffle any noises.  
  
Feeling more than a little satisfied despite his insistent erection, Fíli pressed soft kisses and small licks to Kíli’s spent erection, drinking in the small shifts and gasps of overstimulation as he softened under his touch. “I want you to stoke me,” he whispered as he smoothed Kíli’s undergarments back into place and tugged at his laces.  
  
“Mahal, how did you get to be so perfect?” Kíli whispered back, pushing Fíli onto his side. The older dwarf went willingly, spreading his legs a little as Kíli’s dark eyes looked over him approvingly, catching on the straining bulge between his legs. “My turn.”  
  
Kíli made short work of Fíli’s laces, shoving his breeches down to the top of his lightly furred thighs to expose his hard cock, freed to spring up and point to his navel. He traced his fingertips lightly over the head, his bowstring callouses sending sharp jabs of sensation through Fíli’s groin.  
  
“Kíli, please?” Fíli breathed. “Stroke me, I want to feel your fingers surround me.”  
  
He watched in fascination as Kíli did as he requested, wrapping one hand around his hard cock and the other around his stones, rolling them in his palm. The dark haired dwarf’s narrow hand made his own thick cock seem longer than it did in his own grip, and he enjoyed the visual as Kíli pumped, slowly at first and then gaining speed as Fíli began to leak.  
  
“I love the way you grow wet under my hands,” Kíli whispered into his ear as he swirled a single fingertip around Fíli’s slit. Fíli groaned, low in his throat as his hips twitched under the sensation. Kíli abandoned his tease of his balls in favour of wrapping one hand around the back of Fíli’s head to guide him into a passionate kiss as his other hand worked around Fíli’s erection.  
  
Already worked up from the previous blowjob, it wasn’t long before Kíli’s clever fingers had Fíli spilling onto the grass as Kíli’s tongue pressed into his mouth.   
  
They lay together quietly for a few minutes, content to just exist together and breathe, before reality intruded in the form of a cool breeze and prompted Fíli to set his clothing to rights as Kíli tied his laces and looked around.  
  
“Uh, Fíli? I think some of the ponies have wandered of. There are only six in the meadow.”  
  
“Maybe they wandered into the trees?” Fíli suggested, climbing to his feet and looking around. “They wouldn’t have gone far from the herd.” He scanned the tree line and thought he spotted movement behind a large oak tree. “Over there, I think. Let’s go get them back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzul Translations  
>    
> Iglishmêk - Gesture-code/sign language.  
> Kidhuzurâlê - My/our golden one  
> Khazad-dûm - the Dwarrowdelf  
> Kurkarith - little raven  
> Khagal'abbad - Blue Mountains (Ered Luin)  
> Nadadith – little brother  
> Ûrzudith - little Sun  
> Ûrzudithê - my/our little sun
> 
> And we all know what happens next! Reviews and Kudos warm my tattered soul, I'd love to know what you think!


	7. An Unbelievable Waypoint

After spending half the night tied up in sacks that reeked of rot and offal and several hours combing through a troll hoard, the entire company was in desperate need of a bath - the hobbit most of all having been used as a troll’s handkerchief.  
  
“There is a river a short distance away,” Gandalf assured them once Dori’s complains had begun to cause Fíli to contemplate the pros and cons of gagging him.  
  
There was a mutual agreement to detour to the river to clean off and refill the water skins, the water from the farmer’s well now being considered suspect given its proximity to the trolls.  
  
“It will take us no more than an hour out of our way,” Gandalf assured a frowning Thorin. “And Orcs hunt by scent, at this rate they will be able to track you with ease.”  
  
Fíli was quick to note that although Thorin had been against the delay in the first place, he was one of the first in the water, leaving his leathers on the bank in the sunshine and wading in in shirt and underthings, which he pulled off to dunk into the fresh flowing water.  
  
Bilbo had opted to strip on the bank and scrub his clothing with sand in the shallows, seemingly reluctant to go more than knee deep as he splashed. Fíli was curious to see that, unlike a dwarf, he had little hair other than that on his head and feet, his chest was as bare as his chin.  
  
“They are a strange sort of folk, these hobbits,” Kíli said, coming up beside him with an armful of clothing. “I wonder how they keep warm in winter?”  
  
Fíli shrugged, and then ducked behind Kíli as Bombur took a running start from the bank to cannonball into the deeper water, splashing the entire party - including Gandalf who had been leaning against a willow tree enjoying his pipe. Kíli was splashed full in the face and responded to Fíli’s laughter by quickly dunking the clothes he held before throwing the mass of sopping fabric over Fíli’s head.  
  
The resulting water fight was swift and refreshing, and their clothing was cleaner and free from the stench of troll by the end of it, so Fíli counted it as a success all round even if a rather disgruntled Gandalf did not.  
  
The highlight for him had been Bifur and Bofur working together to swing Kíli into the air and toss him into the deepest part of the river with a whoop of delight. It was their favourite thing to do with their nieces and nephews when the opportunity presented itself and it warmed his heart to have Kíli included in the family ritual - complete with Bombur lurking a short way downstream as back up in case something went wrong.  
  
It was a soggy but cheerful party that continued forwards across the plains, wet clothing draped across their saddlebags as they combed their tangles out as best as they could from the saddle, Thorin not wanting to waste any more time.  
  
The early summer sunlight was warm and bright and by the time the sun had climbed to noon they were rolling shirts and underthings and stowing them into their packs as they ate cram and Thorin argued with Gandalf over Rivendell. A crackling in the undergrowth put them all on alert as a strange contraption pulled by a dozen oversized rabbits slid to a halt a short distance away.  
  
“Fire! Foes! Flee!” Cried the driver, his eyes wide and mad under a hat almost as ridiculous as Bofur’s. Fíli had his hands on his swords and Kíli had an arrow nocked, but Gandalf stepped forward and greeted the crazy intruder by name, so they relaxed.  
  
Fíli didn’t pay all that much attention to the cryptic conversation that ensued, busy helping uncle Bombur pack up the rest of the cram onto the baggage pony. He had a feeling that they would be moving off in short order.  
  
Busy settling the packs evenly, he was taken completely by surprise when the pony startled and took off at a gallop with the rest of the herd.   
  
“Draw your sword,” Bombur instructed tersely. “Wargs approaching.”  
  
With a snarl the first creature bounded into the camp, only to be felled by an arrow in the eye from Kíli. Reeking of blood and faeces, it fell in a heap of mangy fur at Óin’s feet.  
  
“Right then. What’s the plan?” Glóin asked, the throwing axes that Fíli had forged for him in each hand. “We can’t outrun them without the ponies.”  
  
Radagast proved unexpectedly useful, promising to hold off the fast approaching warg riders as Gandalf led the company out onto the rolling moor. They did their best to stick together, using the grey stone outcrops as cover as the brown wizard and his creatures wove around them, chased by a pack of howling wargs who seemed unable to resist the scent of rabbit, no matter how their riders berated them.  
  
Then suddenly the tall wizard was no where to be seen, although Radagast could be heard whooping somewhere to the south.   
  
“Where did he go?” Balin demanded, looking around. A snarl from above made Thorin spin round on his heel and the company looked up to see a large warg growling at them from the top of the nearest outcrop.  
  
“Kíli, shoot it!” Thorin cried as Kíli drew back his bowstring, loosing two shafts in quick succession. The warg tumbled backwards out of sight, its growls silenced. “There will be more shortly,” Thorin predicted grimly. “Where is that dratted Wizard?”  
  
“Down here!” Came a familiar voice, and the company turned as one to see the wizard in question gesturing at them from behind a pile of tumbled stones. “Come on!”  
  
Bofur ran up to investigate. “There’s a cave of sorts,” he confirmed. “Come on, we can bottleneck them.”  
  
Under Thorin’s direction the dwarves beat a strategic retreat down into the hollow under the stones, Kíli covering them as he shot arrow after arrow at the approaching warg riders. Fíli had expected Bilbo to be one of the first down, but the little hobbit stayed stubbornly near the entrance, pelting the warg riders with rocks that somehow always seemed to strike at a tender spot.  
  
“You have impressive aim,” Fíli told him as he helped Ori slip down into safety.   
  
“Hobbits have competitions about this sort of thing,” Bilbo told him confidently, clipping an orc hard enough on the head that his ill-fitting helmet spun round to obscure his vision.  
  
“Come on Kíli, we’re all safe,” Fíli bellowed as Thorin slid past him. He gripped Bilbo by the shoulder as Kíli loosed one last arrow and turned to sprint towards them and pulled the Hobbit with him down into the cave. They reached the bottom together in a tangle of limbs and quickly scrambled to one side, out of the way of the hasty defensive formation the older dwarrows had assumed.  
  
A scuffle at the top of the cave had them all tense, but a moment later a single orc rolled down to land at their feet, an elven arrow protruding from his neck.  
  
“I suppose that takes care of that then,” Balin said seriously.   
  
“There’s a passage at the back of the cave!” Glóin called. “Should we follow it or no?”  
  
“Follow it of course,” Bofur said, pushing forward. “I don’t fancy going back up there, and it’s going the right way.”  
  
Fíli saw that Tharkun had an odd, amused look on his face as the dwarves filed past him, but Bofur was calling his name and he didn’t have time to ask him what exactly he found so amusing about being set on by orcs. Perhaps it was that they had been saved by elves.  
  
The path they followed was narrow, open to the sky in places although in others it turned into a passageway hewn through the rock. And it clearly had been hewn, skilfully at that, into the bedrock below the moorlands.  
  
“Definitely Dwarvish,” Óin said loudly as he looked at the walls.   
  
But Fíli was not so sure. He knew of no Dwarvish settlements in that part of the world, and he saw that Balin and strangely enough Ori also looked unconvinced when the rest of the company began to loudly agree with Óin.  
  
He was not surprised when they emerged some hours later, halfway up the side of a cliff overlooking the valley of Rivendell.

  
  
  
The Elves made reasonable hosts, in Fíli’s opinion. They split the company two to a room, apart from Bilbo and Thorin who were offered separate chambers. Fíli and Kíli took this opportunity to room together and were taken by a tall elf named Lindir to a room in one of the towers. It had a lovely view of the waterfall, although it had rather more windows than Fíli was quite comfortable with. Kíli seemed happy enough with the height, so he resolved to keep quiet about his own misgivings.  
  
“Dinner will be served at sunset,” Lindir told them calmly before sweeping silently from the room.  
  
“Alone at last,” Kíli said as he shed his outer layers with a sigh. “I didn’t think we’d get to see Rivendell, Uncle was so adamantly against it.”  
  
“Glad we’re here despite him?” Fíli asked, sitting on a carved chest to remove his boots. There was a bathing room through a small archway and he was determined to take full advantage of it.  
  
“Yes, I always was curious about elves,” Kíli revealed, wandering around the room, shedding clothes as he went. Fíli had a sudden insight as to how his room in Erid Luin had ended up in such a state. He watched in amusement as the younger dwarf wandered into the bathing room, pulling his shirt off as he did. “Hey! This is a neat way to heat water if you don’t have hot springs.”  
  
Fíli followed after him, abandoning boots and coat on the chest. The dark haired dwarf was examining a small charcoal brazier that was baking several smooth stones.  
  
“I think you fill the bath or sink with cold water, and then drop the hot stones in to warm the water,” he said. “Quite efficient, when you think about it.”  
  
“Let’s give it a go then,” Fíli suggested, turning to the bath to figure out how to fill it. “I don’t intend to go to dinner with the elves smelling like this.”  
  
The bath was quite easy to figure out, a gravity pipe system fed from a rainwater reservoir on the roof. The water was cool but not freezing as it poured in, and smelt fresh and clear rather than stagnant.  
  
“This is a little bit of luxury,” he pointed out as Kíli inspected the small wooden boxes on a shelf at the end of the bath. “I suppose one good thing has come from elves being so tall, we’ll both easily fit in the tub.”  
  
“There are three different soaps here,” Kíli told him with a wide grin. “Luxury indeed. I wonder if this is what it will be like to be Princes in Erebor.”  
  
Fíli shrugged. “Maybe. The royal family probably have a hall all to themselves with all the luxuries Erebor has to offer. The floor is probably covered in sheets of gold.”  
  
Kíli pulled a face at the thought of that. “I like a dark bathroom,” he said. “Too many reflective surfaces and I get to see all my bad angles at once.”  
  
Fíli reached out and wrapped his arms around the younger dwarf, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned you don’t have any bad angles,” he declared. “And I’m the elder, so you should listen to me. Think the tub is full enough?”  
  
“Should be,” Kíli said, reaching over to stop the flow of water. “I saw some tongs for the stones. How long do you think they’ll take to heat the water?”  
  
Fíli shrugged. “No idea. We’ll have to wait in here and keep on testing it.”  
  
Kíli dropped the stones in one by one, grinning as each disappeared with a hiss of steam and a sudden flurry of bubbles. Fíli couldn’t help but grin at the picture he made, clad only in his grimy underthings as he bounced around like a dwarfling at a solstice party.  
  
Fíli stripped off the rest of his outfit, having already seen that the elves had left some clean garments on the bed to change into. They would fit badly, but it would be better than the travel stained outfits they had arrived in. The elves would surely have a way to clean clothes, or they could just dump everything in the bath and scrub at it. He wasn’t sure he was entirely comfortable with the idea of some strange elf touching his underthings.  
  
“Now we wait,” Kíli announced once the stones had all bubbled their way to the bottom of the bathtub. He tucked this thumbs into his waistband and smirked. “Any idea as to how we could pass the time?” He asked as he pulled the fabric down slowly.  
  
“I might have a few,” Fíli said thoughtfully as he reached out to pull Kíli in for a long kiss.  
  
They were both hard and ready by the time they climbed into the warm water, Fíli unable to hold back a gasp as his sensitive cock was submerged. Kíli grinned, reaching into the left hand box to pull out a bar of soap that smelt of rosemary as he worked it into a lather between his hands.  
  
“May I?” He asked, his bobbing erection breaching the surface of the bath water. Fíli nodded, turning to present his back, but soapy hands on his shoulders twisted him back around again. “I want to wash all of you, not your back,” Kíli explained as he ran his fingers over Fíli’s chest, circling his nipples in a gentle tease. He cleaned him thoroughly as Fíli sat back in the warm water and watched him, fingers seeming to caress every inch of skin.   
  
Once Fíli was convinced that he was cleaner than he had ever been before, Kíli climbed onto Fíli’s lap to work soap into his braids, unravelling them gently and setting his beads on the shelf to be dealt with later. “I love your hair,” Kíli murmured as he worked his hands through it. “It’s like golden sunshine, Kidhuzurâlê, I see why they call you that. May I braid it for you?”  
  
“After I’ve washed you in return,” Fíli answered immediately, gripping Kíli’s hips and using the leverage to press their groins together. “We might want to take care of this as well.”  
  
“There’s oil in the room,” Kíli whispered as he pressed forward with a shiver. “Once we’re clean I thought we might take advantage of the bed.”  
  
Fíli looked up into his dark eyes in surprise. “Are you sure?” He asked.  
  
Kíli nodded resolutely. “I’m sure. I want you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if - maybe not all the way, not this first time? But I want to, with you. I want you to touch me. I mean, if you want to.”  
  
“Oh, I want to,” Fíli assured him. “Let me rinse this soap off so I can start showing you just how much.”  
  
  
Falling into the elven bed together was somewhat reminiscent of what Fíli imagined lying on a cloud would feel like, complete with billowing snow white sheets. He lay still for a moment and allowed himself to just exist, savouring the moment. He was clean and unhurt and more turned on than he had ever been in his life before at the thought of the things that Kíli had asked him to do as they bathed in the warm water.  
  
The mattress shifted as Kíli climbed onto the bed with far more grace than Fíli’s own manoeuvre had managed. He was holding a small ceramic bottle from the bathing room in one hand and looked simultaneously aroused and nervous as he shuffled forwards on his knees, his hard prick bobbing with the movement.  
  
Unable to resist with such an opportunity at eye level, Fíli rolled forward to take the flushed head of his brother’s cock into his mouth.  
  
“Mahal, Fíli!” Kíli swore, nearly dropping the oil.  
  
“Sorry!” Fíli apologised as he drew back. “You just looked too delicious.”  
  
“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?” Kíli demanded, placing the bottle safely on the bedside table. “I’m irresistible, is that what you’re saying?”  
  
“Completely and utterly, kurkarithê,” Fíli assured him, pulling him closer for a kiss. “I love the way you taste on my tongue.”  
  
“Oh?” Kíli said, raising one dark eyebrow. “Now that we’re clean, I have imagined tasting you in other places.” Fíli frowned at him in confusion as Kíli’s dark eyes glanced meaningfully downwards. They had already had their mouths on each other many times during the journey, what could Kíli possibly be referring to? The answer came to him in a rush and he bit his lip as he realised just what Kíli had been fantasising about.  
  
“There you go,” the younger dwarf murmured. “May I? I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”  
  
“You promise to stop if I don’t like it?” Fíli asked, knowing the answer but feeling suddenly vulnerable and craving reassurance. He hoped that Kíli would not think him a coward, but his need to hear the promise for himself outweighed his fear.  
  
“Of course,” Kíli said, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. “Anything we do should be enjoyed equally, otherwise there is no point. I promise to stop if you ask.”  
  
“Have… have you done this before?” Fíli asked, dreading the answer but feeling that he needed to know before they progressed further. Kíli blushed and shook his head.  
  
“No, not myself,” he said quietly. “But I had a friend who had, he told me about it in great detail, until we were both hard in our breeches - but when he tried to touch me it didn’t feel right. Although his words had excited me, his hands, his scent did not. You are the first to touch me like this, Fíli, kidhuzurâlê. You are the first I have wanted to touch me like this.”  
  
“For me as well,” Fíli was quick to reassure him. “I only asked because, well, because you seemed to know more than I do, and it made me wonder.”  
  
“Well, now you know,” Kíli said with a weak smile. Fíli wormed his way closer through the snowy sheets until he was within kissing range and proceeded to kiss Kíli vigorously, placing large, noisy kisses over his nose and cheeks until Kíli was laughing and pushing him away.  
  
Pleased that the solemn mood had been effectively broken, Fíli smiled into his brother’s laughing eyes. “You can do it to me,” he confirmed. “And then I shall do it to you, and then we will see how we go from there.”  
  
“What if it makes you come?” Kíli asked, chewing on his lip. “I mean, should I continue or hold back?”  
  
Fíli glanced out of the nearest window to judge the position of the sun. “I think that might be a good idea, we don’t have that much time before dinner,” he said. “We can always play again after. Do we know how long we’re staying here?”  
  
“A few days at least, I think,” Kíli smiled, pushing up onto his knees and guiding Fíli into raising his hips. “We should have plenty of time to play.”  
  
  
  
They made their way to the dining room, smiling and sated, as the sky darkened to shades of blue and purple. The elves had lit sweet scented candles in twisted glass holders around the open plaza where the meal was set, and most of the company were already present. All were dressed in clean linen shirts with the sleeves rolled up many times, and soft leggings that strained over their sturdy calves and pooled around their ankles.  
  
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you came across our ponies on your way back from slaughtering the orcs?” Ori asked the nearest elf hopefully. “Only most of my writing supplies were in my saddlebag.”  
  
“I shall ask the guard captain to have his patrols keep an eye out for your beasts,” the elf said stiffly.  
  
The meal had more greenery than Fíli was used to seeing on a table, but the hobbit seemed cheerful enough and the bread was fresh and flavoured with herbs.  
  
“Oh dear,” Kíli said after he had taken a bite. “They make better bread than we do, I may never be satisfied again.”  
  
“Maybe uncle Bombur will learn how to make it.” Fíli looked down the table. “Uncle? What do you think of the bread?”  
  
Bombur grinned at him with his mouth full. “If Master Elrond is agreeable, I will visit his kitchens!” he shouted back.  
  
Fíli looked over to where Tharkûn, Elrond and Thorin sat at a separate table. Thorin was frowning at his sword and Fíli hoped that he wasn’t offending their host. After the way he had behaved in Bilbo’s home Fíli wasn’t sure that he had had the usual lessons in guest etiquette from his teachers - or maybe he hadn’t paid attention.  
  
Perhaps if he had the chance, Fíli could thank Elrond himself. The master of Rivendell could have turned them away after all, from what Thorin and Balin had been saying about Elves on the journey that would have been more expected than a welcome.  
  
But then Fíli remembered Khelebrimbor and his work with Narvi and wondered again if all the complaining about elves was specific to those in the Greenwood. Not all Dwarves were the same after all, why would the elves be?  
  
“Perhaps we should have a song of Narvi and Khelebrimbor after the meal?” Fíli suggested to Bofur. “To honour our hosts.”  
  
Bofur gave him an approving smile. “I like the way you think, nephew! Have you tried the white cheese? It’s delicious. Makes the green shit more palatable.”  
  
After the plates were cleared and Kíli had had to talk him out of clobbering Ori for his complaints about the food, Elrond led the way to the hall of fire for songs and stories.  
  
Bilbo, surprisingly enough, started them off, with a song he claimed he had been composing on the journey.  
  
Roads go ever ever on,  
Over rock and under tree,   
By caves where never sun has shone,  
By streams that never find the sea;  
Over snow by winter sown,  
And through the merry flowers of June  
Over grass and over stone,  
And under mountains in the moon.  
  
“It’s not quite finished yet,” the hobbit said bashfully with his thumbs in his pockets. “Still, as a little offering I hope it suffices.”  
  
“It does indeed, Master Baggins,” Elrond assured him. “A fine verse indeed.”  
  
The elves sang next, their high voices soaring together over the crackling fire in the centre of the hall. Bofur walked through the group of dwarves talking in a low whisper, and by the time the elven music drew to a crescendoing finish, six dwarrows stepped forward to sing. Bofur took the lead, with Fíli providing the tenor and Bombur and Bifur the bass. Glóin and Nori had also chosen to sing, but the rest of the company held back, watching the surrounding elves with wary eyes.  
  
“Come on lads,” Bofur said with an encouraging smile. “Let’s do our people proud, eh? We may have lost the instruments with the ponies, but we can still make music.”  
  
Bifur and Bofur started a low hum as Fíli stamped the beat, Glóin and Nori quickly joining in.  
  
Follow the way up the stair  
To smooth grey rock and ithildin fair  
A legacy you will see there  
From true Khelebrimbor  
  
For seven days and seven nights  
Through burning sun and midges bites  
They left their mark upon the heights  
Narvi and Khelebrimbor  
  
Ignoring those whose mutters loud  
Rose above the gathered crowd  
Hand in hand they stood, then bowed  
Narvi and Khelebrimbor  
  
A masterpiece in silver’d stone  
Protects the lands we call our own  
Throughout the halls we make our home  
We remember Khelebrimbor  
  
Long days have passed since we broke bread  
Or wove patterns with mithril thread  
Though now the halls are dark and dead  
We remember Khelebrimbor  
  
One day we will climb the stair  
To smooth grey rock and ithlin fair  
Their masterwork awaits us there  
Narvi and Khelebrimbor  
  
  
There was silence for a long moment after the last note died away, and then Elrond stepped forward and bowed to Bofur, followed by the rest of the elves in the hall.   
  
“A tale I had not heard before,” Elrond said quietly. “I thank you for sharing it with us in this hall of fire. It gladdens my heart to know that the great craftspeople of the past are honoured in your history as well as our own.”  
  
Bofur smiled up at the tall elf. “Narvi was our ancestor,” he said, gesturing to include Bifur, Bombur and Fíli in the statement. “We may have lost our ancestral halls, but we are proud of our heritage.”  
  
“If you are moved to share more stories from Khazad-dûm during your visit here, I would be happy to hear them,” Elrond told them all, before sweeping off to direct the elven choir in another aria.  
  
Fíli turned to find Thorin frowning at them, but for once he seemed more thoughtful than angry so Fíli decided it was safe enough to ignore him for now. Kíli was sitting beside him, his dark eyes reflecting the firelight as he listened to the music.  
  
“You sang well,” Thorin said as he sat down next to his brother.  
  
“We do a lot of singing at home. I like it,” Fíli shrugged.  
  
“Do you play an instrument as well? I learnt the harp when we were in Erebor but I haven’t played for years now.”  
  
“I play the fiddle, with more enthusiasm than skill, I’m sorry to say,” Fíli told him, rearranging the cushion he was leaning against. “Did anyone tell you about the ponies?”  
  
Thorin frowned. “What about them?”  
  
“Ori asked one of the elves if their patrol had seen them on the way back to Rivendell, and the elf said that they’d ask the patrol leader to keep an eye out.”  
  
“That was a good idea,” Thorin said, casting an appraising look at Ori.  
  
“Don’t be too impressed,” Kíli said with a smile. “I think Ori was more concerned with getting his writing supplies back than the rest of our gear.”  
  
“Still, we can hope that not everything we brought with us has been lost.”  
  
Kíli stretched and yawned. “I’m beat,” he said, winking at Fíli. “Think I’ll turn in for the night. How about you, nadad?”  
  
“That bed did look considerably more comfortable than the ground,” Fíli agreed.  
  
“Sleep well, namadul,” Thorin said absently, his attention on a group of elves entering the hall.  
  
The passages and walkways of Rivendell were twisty and confusing, so Fíli was quite pleased that they only took two wrong turns as they made their way to their room. He was less impressed when he realised that someone had come in and removed the clothing that they had piled into a corner to deal with later.  
  
“I didn’t want elves touching my underthings!” He groaned as headed into the bathing room to splash his face and hands with clean water.  
  
“They’ll smell better when we get them back at least,” Kíli pointed out, sounding entirely unconcerned. “I was worried that they’d make the room reek.”  
  
“Little worry of that, with all these windows,” Fíli muttered as he dried off. He picked a bottle of bath oil from the shelf and sniffed at it, pleased when it smelt more like a pine forest than flowers. The one that Kili had found earlier had reeked of lavender.  
  
“That’ll do,” Kíli said quietly, padding up next to him in bare feet.  
  
Fíli had a feeling that he would never look at a pine forest in the same way again. Kíli twined their fingers together and led him to the oversized elven bed. “I’m glad we’re here, for this,” he said quietly as he turned his dark eyes towards the bottle in Fíli’s hand.  
  
“Why?” Fíli asked, setting it on the table in order to climb onto the soft mattress.  
  
“It makes it all the more special,” Kíli explained, dropping light kisses onto his shoulder. Fíli lay back as the younger dwarf pressed him to the mattress. “Did you enjoy our play earlier?”  
  
Fíli licked his lips as he remembered the way that the soft, yielding flesh of Kíli’s hole give way under his tongue. “I did.”  
  
“Did you prefer it when I licked you or the other way around? What did you think of just now?”  
  
“Me licking you,” Fíli gasped as Kíli’s lips closed around his nipple.  
  
Once the sensitive nub had been licked into a hard peak, Kíli sat back with a satisfied smile. “Me too. I think I’d like you to take me tonight.”  
  
Fíli blinked at him. “What? That’s how you decided?”  
  
Kíli shrugged. “Seemed as good a method as any,” he said, reaching for the oil. “We’re both thinking of you being inside me, not the other way around after all.”  
  
“What if we had thought about different things?” Fíli protested as Kíli drizzled oil onto his hard cock. “And shouldn’t I be stretching you with my fingers first?”  
  
“I guess if we had wanted different things, we would have had a longer conversation about it,” Kíli said sensibly. “And no, I don’t want your fingers this time. We’ll go slow.”  
  
“I… I don’t want to hurt you,” Fíli said uncertainly. His dick was hard and ready, shining with oil in the candlelight, but he held firm to Kíli’s hips to stop him from moving.   
  
“You won’t, we’ll go slow,” Kíli repeated with a smile. He picked up one of Fíli’s hands and spread their fingers together. “Anyhow, I think your cock is considerably smoother than your fingers, it’ll go in easier than they will.”  
  
Fíli regarded his work roughened hands in dismay. “I-”  
  
“I didn’t meant it like that!” Kíli said hastily, ducking to press a kiss to Fíli’s fingertips. “I love your hands, they feel good on my skin and in my hair. I just don’t think they’re the best tool for this particular job.”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Fíli said firmly. “So, you control the pace. I can brace you easily enough.”  
  
“Your smithing muscles are a thing of beauty and before we leave Rivendell I will have kissed and licked each and every one,” Kíli vowed as he shuffled forward from his seat on the blond’s thighs with Fíli bracing his hands to help him balance. His hard cock swayed with the movement, the wet tip sparkling in the flickering light. Fíli wanted to taste it, but Kíli stopped long before he was in range.  
  
“Can you, ah, hold it ready?” Kíli asked, his cheeks flushed with embarrassed excitement. He changed his grip to hold Fíli’s right hand with both of his, freeing his left to reach down and point his oiled cock in the right direction.  
  
“Ok, move when you want to,” Fíli encouraged once he had as firm a grip as he could manage, given the slick oil coating his member.  
  
A hot, tight band slowly gave way around him as Kíli sank down with quivering thighs. Fíli groaned at the sensation as his cock was enveloped in yielding warmth.   
  
“Mahal, that feels incredible,” he gasped, forcing his eyes open. “Are you ok?”  
  
Kíli was watching his face hungrily, biting his lip and Fíli reached out with his slightly oily hand to steady him. “I’m all right,” the brunette assured him. “It’s not- I’m not in pain. Just a bit uncomfortable. I think it will be better when I’m ready to move.”  
  
Fíli shifted to place his feet flat on the mattress for leverage and Kíli’s eyes widened as his cock visibly jumped. “Oh! I think- move again?”  
  
Fíli thrust up shallowly and Kíli’s eyes fluttered closed as he let out a low gasp. “More, please,” he whispered, his grip on Fíli’s hand tightening as he began to rock back and forth. Fíli tensed his arms to provide as firm a base as he could manage in that position and gave into the urge to thrust. This wasn’t the same as their other lovemaking, he didn’t have to worry about keeping his hips still in case he suffocated his partner. Something primal moved within him as they settled into a rhythm and Kíli’s quiet noises filled his ears.  
  
“Kee,” he whispered as he looked into his brother’s dark brown eyes. “I think you’re my one.”  
  
Kíli’s mouth dropped open in shock as a bright flush reddened his cheeks. He jerked a little, and then muttered a curse as he started to orgasm, painting long stripes across Fíli’s chest. The spasms travelled through his whole body, constricting the muscles that sheathed Fíli’s cock and he also tipped over the edge, shuddering as he felt the overflow start to drip down his stones.  
  
Kíli slumped on top of him and pressed his hot forehead into his shoulder as he caught his breath, not seeming to care when Fíli’s softening cock slipped out of him, or that his own semen was matting their chest hair together.  
  
“I… I meant to last a little longer,” he said, his voice muffled by Fíli’s skin. “But then you said that and I - did you mean it?”  
  
“Of course I meant it,” Fíli assured him, wrapping his arms around Kíli’s shoulders. “It wasn’t the heat of the moment, well, sorry it was, but I meant it.”  
  
Kíli pulled back to look at him, a wondering smile softening the edges of his mouth. “I… I think you are my one too,” he whispered. “I never thought I- I’ve never felt…”  
  
“We fit together,” Fíli said, tracing nonsense patterns across Kíli’s skin. “It’s like you’ve filled a place within me I didn’t know was empty. Do you…?”  
  
“Yes,” Kíli said, nodding. “It feels like that for me too.”  
  
Fíli rolled them both over and pressed a kiss to Kíli’s lips. “You lie there and relax, I’ll get a damp cloth to wipe us down so we can sleep comfortably,” he said, slipping off of the bed.  
  
A few minutes later, cleaner and slightly damp, they slid between the snowy sheets and lay on their sides, their heads on one oversized pillow.  
  
“I’d tell the whole of Arda if I could,” Kíli whispered. “I want you to know that.”  
  
Fíli smiled. “I’m not the shout-it-from-the-rooftops type, but for you I would make an exception. If we could.”  
  
Kíli shut his eyes with a smile on his face, and after taking a moment to memorise his expression, Fíli did the same. Sleep claimed them quickly as the crescent moon set over the valley of Rivendell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's song belongs to Tolkien, the other is an original work. I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Kidhuzurâlê - My/our golden one  
> Kurkarithê - my little raven
> 
> I'll be on holiday for the next three Fridays, with not a lot of internet access. I'm hoping to be able to load the drafts for the next chapters now to upload while I'm away but I might not manage that - I'll be sailing in the Bahamas, so it depends on whether we'll have wifi. Might have to haul the router up the mast again! If the next chapter is late, please accept my apologies in advance!


	8. An Unlikely Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the books, they lost the ponies to the goblins of the misty mountains, and in the films they lost them during the warg attack. I have taken the middle road here, and imagined a kinder end for their poor beasts!

Two days after their arrival in Rivendell, two tall elves named Elladan and Elrohir lead their string of bedraggled ponies into the happy valley. Fíli had been exploring with Bifur, and the clatter of horseshoes on the stone walkways had drawn their attention to the nearest window, which turned out to have a fantastic view of the man entrance.  
  
“ _Excellent, clean underwear_!” Bifur crowed in khuzdul before he took off running for the staircase down, Fíli hot on his heels.  
  
They were the first dwarrows to arrive, and skidded to a halt to find their host speaking with the two elves.  
  
Fíli and Bifur bowed politely. “Thank you for finding our mounts,” Fíli said quickly. “Fíli and Bifur of the house of Narvi, at your service.”  
  
“You are welcome, Master Dwarves,” Elrond said, directing a fond smile at the green clad scouts. “I believe my sons here took your missing ponies as a personal challenge once they learnt of it.”  
  
“They must be so uncomfortable, the poor things,” Fíli said, catching at Myrtle’s reigns and patting her neck. “Which way are the stables? We need to get this tack off of them and rub them down.”  
  
“I’ll show you the way, Master Fíli,” one of the twins said. “Elladan has to give his report to our father.”  
  
Fíli grabbed Bungo’s reigns as well, as Bifur took Daisy and they followed the tall elf down a wide sloping path. The rest of the heard followed easily and before long they were in a neat stable yard carved into the rock.  
  
“The forges are just down there,” Elrohir said, pointing with a careless wave of his hand. “If you wanted to see them.”  
  
Fíli stared longingly down the path indicated. An elven forge! He was suddenly filled with a strong urge to see it, to see how the set up compared to a dwarven forge and what things the elves typically made there. Did they still make weapons as fine as those forged in Gondolin, he wondered.  
  
A snort from Minty brought him back to the present and he hurriedly started to strip the tack off of the nearest pony. She had some rub marks from the saddlebags on her hindquarters and a long welt across her chest.  
  
“I’m not sure that they’ll be fit to continue the journey,” he told Bifur as they worked together to free the ponies from the uncomfortable leather. Several elves had appeared from a small passageway and had started brushing down the ponies as Fíli and Bifur finished with them. “We’ll need to consolidate down to just what we can carry.”  
  
‘Not a lot of food for them in the mountains anyway,’ Bifur gestured, not wanting to use Khuzdul in front of the elves.  
  
Fíli approached the new elves carefully. “Would one of you mind going back to the main house to let the rest of the dwarves know that the ponies have been found?” He asked. “I’m sure they’ll want to come down and collect their packs.”  
  
The elf tossed their long dark hair over their shoulder and looked at him in surprise. “You don’t wish us to carry them up to the rooms for you?”  
  
Fíli shook his head. “No need to put yourselves out,” he said. “I’m sure you have plenty to do around here, and their legs and arms work well enough. They can carry their own things.”  
  
The elves looked at each other, and then to Elrohir. “I know,” Elrond’s son said, shrugging. “He is most unusual for a prince.”  
  
“What? I’m not a prince,” Fíli protested. “Maybe I was going to be once, but that was a long time ago. I’m a smith now.”  
  
“Ah, so you do want to visit the forge?” Elrohir asked as Fíli moved onto the next pony waiting patiently in line.  
  
“More than anything, but after we make these creatures comfortable,” Fíli said firmly, unable to stop himself glancing again in the direction of the forge. Was that a chimney rising above the bushes?   
  
The rest of the company clattered in as they finished with the baggage pony, falling on the pile of saddlebags by the doors with cries of delight. Ori was actually crying, sobs shaking his shoulders as he dug through his bags to pull out a large, leather bound book.  
  
Rolling his eyes at the spectacle they made, Fíli looked for Thorin in the crowd. He figured that if he got his uncle on board with leaving the ponies in Rivendell, the rest of the dwarves would have to accept it.  
  
“Uncle Thorin,” he called, pleased when the dark blue eyes immediately snapped to his. “I need to show you something.”  
  
“What is it?” Thorin growled, striding over.  
  
“Days in the wild, saddled and bridled, have been hard on the beasts,” Fíli told him, showing him the worst of the welts and sore spots, more evident than ever now that they had been brushed down. “I think we must leave them here uncle, it would be too cruel to ride them now, and to wait for them to heal would take time we can ill afford.”  
  
Thorin frowned at him, but his hands told a different tale, gently stroking down the pony’s flank.  
  
“There wouldn’t be a lot of browse for them in the mountains in any case, and we don’t have the space to take a lot of fodder with us,” Fíli continued his argument. He was relieved when Thorin nodded his acceptance, as he didn’t have a third point to make.  
  
“Very well. Lord Elrond will look at the map tonight to see if he can decipher its secrets, and after that we may as well be on our way, perhaps the day after tomorrow. I will have the company meet on the plaza by that big fountain to take inventory of our supplies.”  
  
“Uncle Bombur will probably be asked to cook tonight,” Fíli said with a smile. “Most of the company have not enjoyed the elven cuisine.”  
  
“I spoke with Elrond about that after breakfast,” Thorin told him. “We have permission to fish where the river pools below the waterfalls. Nori, Dwalin and Kíli are there now.”  
  
The three fishing dwarves were successful, landing a number of fish that Bombur turned into a hearty stew with onions and potatoes unearthed from his pack and a large helping of greens provided by the elves. He had spent the afternoon in the kitchens, learning the secrets of elven bread, and the rolls that appeared on the table that evening were distinctly dwarven in shape, although they tasted as delicious as ever.  
  
“I think he cracked it,” Bofur muttered to Fíli as he dunked the second half of his roll in his stew. “We’ll be the envy of Erid Luin when we get back. Dwarves will hike for miles for Bombur’s bread rolls.”  
  
Fíli was surprised to see Elladan and Elrohir eating bowls of stew as well, with every evidence of enjoyment.  
  
“You are a fine cook, master dwarf,” Elrohir complemented Bombur, who dropped his spoon in shock at being complimented by an elf.  
  
“And that is high praise from mister fussy here!” Elladan laughed, shoving his brother lightly.  
  
“I’m not fussy, I just have standards,” the younger twin sighed.  
  
“These elves aren’t much like I imagined,” Ori said in a low whisper.  
  
“Better or worse than you thought?” Kíli asked, mopping up the last of his stew and inspecting the pot to see if he could have seconds.  
  
“Better,” Ori said decisively. “Dori always made out like they were aloof and unhelpful, but they’re not like that at all.”  
  
“Dori remembers Erebor, right?” Kíli spooned himself another half bowlful and turned to Fíli with a raised eyebrow, who quickly passed over his own bowl for a second helping. “He’s probably talking about the Greenwood elves, they’re a different, uh, clan or something. It’d be like comparing Firebeards with Longbeards, they’re not the same.”  
  
“Firebeards and Longbeards are quite similar though,” Ori objected.  
  
“Not a good example then,” Kíli frowned, taking another roll. “Ok, Longbeards and Blacklocks.”  
  
Ori thought about that as Fíli and Kíli ate their stew. It was still hot, the pot in the centre of the table being continuously warmed by a series of small candles. Elrohir had explained that the set up was originally for some sort of melted cheese dish when Fíli had asked about it, although it did well enough for stew. Bilbo’s eyes had gone dark with desire when Elrohir described the dish, asking lots of questions about the type of cheeses used and whether mushrooms were ever incorporated.  
  
He would probably have dominated the conversation talking about cheese for the rest of the evening if Gandalf hadn’t appeared to drag him away to a meeting with Thorin, Elrond and a rather put out Balin.  
  
“Did you make the axe that the red headed dwarf holds in his belt?” Elrohir asked curiously, gesturing towards Glóin.  
  
“I did,” Fíli confirmed, sopping up the last of his stew with the last of his third bread roll. “It was one of a pair, but I think he has misplaced the other in an orc’s skull.”  
  
Elrohir looked at him with new respect. “That is fine work, Master Fíli,” he said, inclining his head. “Can you also make throwing daggers?”  
  
Fíli pulled one of his own design out of his boot by it’s looped handle and handed it over for inspection. Elladan’s eyes widened as he lent closer to see what his brother held.  
  
“I have never seen the like,” he said, taking it gently and checking the balance.  
  
“Would you make me a set of six?” Elrohir asked, taking it back and passing it back to Fíli. “If you have time before you leave.”  
  
“I will,” Fíli agreed. “I’ve been itching to try out your forge since you showed it to me this afternoon.”  
  
  
  
“Can I come too?” Kíli asked as they climbed into bed later that evening. “To the forge, I mean?”  
  
Fíli nodded. “I don’t see why not, but please don’t distract me with questions. The elves have been generous hosts, and I’d like to repay them by making the best set of throwing daggers I can.”  
  
“Much better repayment than the veiled insults Dwalin and Glóin have been muttering since we arrived,” Kíli agreed, flopping onto his back. “I’m going to miss this bed.”  
  
“I’m going to miss the bathing room.”  
  
“I probably won’t miss the food, though.”  
  
Fíli laughed. “Me neither, not now uncle knows how to make that delicious bread. I wonder how many times he’ll have access to an oven on the rest of the trip?”  
  
“Probably not many,” Kíli sighed. “Looking at the map, we’ll be camping the rest of the way to Lake town, which is a three week trip from here.”  
  
“And then another few days to Erebor?”  
  
“Lake town was a two day ride from Dale, which was an hour from the main gate,” Kíli recited. “But we aren’t going to the main gate, we’re trying to find this secret door, so perhaps three or four days of scrambling over the slopes. All the old pathways will have been destroyed by Smaug when he burnt down the forests that covered that area.”  
  
“We also won’t have ponies, so it might take us longer than two days,” Fíli pointed out.  
  
“What about the ponies?” Kíli asked, sitting up on his elbows in alarm.  
  
“Sorry, you were fishing,” Fíli said. “They’re all too saddlesore to ride, we’re going to leave them here. You’ll need to repack your stuff into one bag in the morning.”  
  
Kíli looked at the packs stacked in the corner of the room and sighed. “All right,” he agreed unwillingly. “Not even the baggage pony?”  
  
Fíli shook his head. “He was one of the worst off. They’ll be better off here, Elrond and his people will look after them.”  


  
After a hearty breakfast of oatmeal and honey the following morning, Fíli and Kíli followed Elrohir down the winding, tree lined paths to the forge. Fíli was eager to try out the elven equipment and Kíli was just looking forward to watching Fíli and made no secret of that, which seemed to amuse their elven host.  
  
"My father is a fine smith himself, Elrohir told them as they rounded the final corner. "I believe that one day he will re-forge the Sword-that-was-broken. But that is still long years into the future."  
  
"Elendil's sword?" Kíli asked, and Fíli was once again surprised by just how much history the younger dwarf knew.  
  
"Yes, that's the one," Elrohir confirmed. "You know the tale?"  
  
"Isildur cut the evil ring from Sauron's hand with his Father's sword," Kíli recited in a sing song tone. "I think his father would have been proud of that, had he lived to see it. He would probably have been less proud about what followed after."  
  
Elrohir snorted a laugh and pushed open the doors to the forge. "The fire will probably need stoking, there's a woodpile round the side," he said and Kíli rolled his eyes but went to fetch wood without complaint.  
  
The forge was a large, open area with an even grey stone floor and plenty of light pouring through open spaces in the roof. Everything was a little high for Fíli, but Elrohir produced a sturdy wooden step without comment and Fíli stepped up with as much dignity as he could muster to take a look over the available metal bars stored in boxes on one side.  
  
"I take it it's alright to use one of these?" he asked, hefting a likely candidate. "I mean, if you want me to start smelting from ore I don't think we'll be done in time."  
  
"Take whatever you like," Elrohir invited as Kíli returned with an armful of wood. "Whichever metal you think will work best."  
  
Fíli grinned as he eyed the selection. This was going to be fun.  
  
  
  
It took all day and half the next morning to finish the six daggers that Elrohir had requested, and by the time he had finished grinding an edge onto the last one they had become friends.  
  
“I admit, I never expected a friendship with such a secretive race of beings,” the elf teased as he hefted the final dagger. “Now, we must away to the range, to for a marksmanship competition. Invite your brother.”  
  
Kíli’s admiring eyes as Fíli stripped off layers of clothing before hammering the gleaming metal into submission had become a little too obvious, and Fíli had banished him from the forge halfway through the first morning, afraid that Elrohir would pick up on their secret. Kíli had unwillingly agreed, and had started spending more time fishing with Bifur, who was teaching him the songs of Khazad-dûm as they lounged on sun warmed rocks and waited for a nibble.  
  
“Bring yours and have him string his longbow, and he can compete against Kíli,” Fíli suggested.   
  
Elrohir agreed and the two parted ways as they headed in the likely direction of their respective siblings. He found Bifur and Kíli where he expected, sitting by the waters edge.  
  
“Fancy a friendly archery contest with Elladan?” he asked, dipping his hands into the cool water to wash the last of the polish and metal fragments from his skin.  
  
‘Since when are we friendly with elves?’ Bifur asked, his Iglishmêk gestures lazy as he relaxed in the sunshine.  
  
“These two aren’t so bad, Uncle,” Kíli protested. “They’ve been very complementary about Fíli’s metalworking skills.”  
  
“The forge here is lovely,” Fíli said, smiling to think of it. “Although I’m not quite tall enough for it. It would be worse for Bilbo, I think.”  
  
“Not sure hobbits typically go for much black smith work,” Kíli said as he started to pack up his fishing gear. “A lot of the trade items that go that way are gardening tools.”  
  
‘Toys as well’ Bifur added. ‘Go shoot, I’ll keep an eye on the rods.’  
  
The twins had beaten them to the range, probably due to their significantly longer legs, Fíli reflected sourly. The targets were already set up, a pine wood stump for the knife throwing and a woven straw circular target for the archers that was unlikely to damage their arrows.  
  
“When we beat you, kindly remember that we have several centuries of practise under our belts,” Elrohir teased, spinning one of his new knives around his finger.  
  
“Ha!” Kíli scoffed, stringing his bow. “Age dims the sight and softens the muscles, we’ll try to keep your handicap in mind when we start.”  
  
Grinning at his brother’s confidence, Fíli started to pull his own knives from their hidden sheathes. He had used the equipment in the forge to sharpen them until the edges were fine enough to shave with – not that he had any intention of taking a blade to his beard.  
  
“Sorry laddies, this will have to wait,” Balin said from behind them as Fíli prepared to throw.  
  
“What? Why?” Kíli protested as Elladan and Elrohir frowned in polite confusion at the elderly dwarf.  
  
Balin sighed. “Some sort of meeting with another wizard, we need to leave now before we may not be able to. Gandalf will stay here and act as a distraction, he said.”  
  
Elrohir snorted. “Mithrandir has long liked to play games,” he said. “We will go to the kitchens and collect as much lembas as is ready baked, we will meet you by the entrance.”  
  
“You’ll need to hurry,” Elladan agreed, leaning his bow against a tree. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance to show our skills another time.”  
  
“I’d like that,” Kíli said as Balin caught him by the elbow and began to hurry him in the direction of their rooms.   
  
“Thank you for helping us,” Fíli said, before turning and running to catch up.  
  
Despite the haste, the company were already mostly packed and it didn’t take long for them to gather in the entrance courtyard. Elladan and Elrohir returned from the kitchens with packets of light biscuit wrapped in leaves and twine, which they shared out amongst the dwarves before Bilbo and Ori made their out of breath entrance, packs jangling.  
  
“A small bite is a meal,” Elladan warned them. “It is like cram, only… more. We never share the recipe, so don’t ask!”  
  
Bombur sighed mournfully but put the package in his pack and didn’t ask the questions that Fíli knew were burning in his mind.  
  
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Thorin said stiffly.  
  
“You are welcome,” the twins said in unison. Elladan gestured and the main gate to Rivendell opened on silent, well balanced hinges.   
  
“May we meet again one day! Galu, salvo ‘lass a lalaith.”  
  
Thorin and Balin stiffened at the lilting elvish, so Fíli stepped forward. “Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal,” he said, holding out his clenched hand. First Elladan and then Elrohir tapped their knuckles against his without hesitation as the rest of the company began to move out, the eldest among them no doubt muttering over his use of Kuzdul under a blue sky.  
  
“We would name you an Elf-friend, Fíli of the house of Narvi,” Elladan said, pressing something small and cold into his hand.  
Before Fíli could dredge up a suitable response to that, the twins had stepped swiftly backwards and Bifur was pushing him towards the gates.  
  
“That was well done,” Bofur said approvingly, coming up on his other side. “I know the stuffy oldies won’t agree, but we’re proud as ever.”  
  
“They named me an elf friend,” Fíli said in astonishment, looking down at the delicately wrought silver and crystal pendant that Elladan had given him.  
  
“Bless my beard!” Bofur exclaimed as he stared at it, the crystal reflecting rainbows over his startled face. He nearly tripped over his own boots and Bifur had to catch him before he fell face first onto the path.  
  
“Ghivasha, azaghîth,” Bifur rumbled.  
  
Fíli nodded, tucking it away in a secret pocket in his jacket. He would need to find a chain for it, or a leather thong would do to start with. Then his uncle’s words fully registered.  
  
“Hey!” he protested. “Less of the little, if you please!”  
  
His uncles both laughed at him and he was unable to suppress his own grin at their merriment. He was sad to leave Rivendell, with its soft beds and intriguing forge and blessed privacy, but it was nice to be on the road with his family again.  
  
He would lay his bedroll in between theirs that evening, he decided. Kíli would be too much of a temptation after their day sharing a bed in Rivendell, and he had a feeling that his uncles had missed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translation:  
>    
> Iglishmêk - Gesture-code/sign language.  
> Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal - May we meet again with the grace of Mahal (formal farewell)  
> Ghivasha, azaghîth - A treasure, little warrior  
>    
> Elvish Translation:  
>    
> Galu, salvo ‘lass a lalaith - Good luck, have joy and laughter.


	9. An Unlucky Encounter

Fíli found himself next to Thorin as they made steady progress up the switchback path to the narrow pass above Rivendell. The Redhorn pass would have been easier, but it would take them too far out of their way, and they were hoping that as it was the height of summer they would not have to deal with snow as they made their way across the range.  
  
"I hear that you have been named an elf friend," Thorin said after they had walked in silence for half a mile. "What were you doing in Rivendell to gain such a title?"  
  
"Forging," Fíli replied promptly. "Lord Elrond's son admired my throwing knives and requested a set. They have the most marvellous forge there, it heats metal beautifully, and the tools are all extremely well made."  
  
"An elf requested dwarven knives?" Thorin asked in surprise. "I did not expect that from their proud race."  
  
"The elves of Rivendell are not so proud," Fíli shrugged. "I think to expect them to act like the elves of the Greenwood is a mistake. Elrond might be a useful ally in years to come, if caravans journey to Erebor from the northern settlements of Erid Luin."  
  
Thorin stared at him, nearly tripping as his foot slipped on a patch of loose shale. "You have a good mind for politics, nephew," he said once he'd regained both his balance and his dignity.  
  
"Me?" Fíli asked, taken aback. "I know nothing of politics. It's just common sense that's all."  
  
Thorin clapped a heavy hand onto his shoulder. "Whatever you call it, even my dislike of elves will not cloud my eyes to the honour they have afforded you. May I see it?"  
  
Fíli fished the pendant out of his jacket and held it up so that it sparkled in the weak sunlight. "I need to get a proper chain for it," he sighed. "I didn't bring anything suitable with me."  
  
Thorin was staring at the delicate construction of crystal and silver with a strange expression on his face. "I have something," he said abruptly, pulling at the neck of his shirt. He pulled a silver chain from around his own neck and slipped the clasp, pulling off the iron ring that hung from it. He slipped the ring onto his thumb and passed the chain to Fíli.  
  
"Uncle, I- thank you," Fíli spluttered, accepting the delicate strand of metalwork. It matched the pendant well and he took a moment to admire it before slipping it around his neck and tucking the lot under his shirt. His eyes fell on the dark ring that Thorin now wore on his thumb.  
  
"A gift from my cousin Dain," Thorin explained before he could ask. "I decided not to wear it openly in Erid Luin lest people wonder why we had settled there instead of in the Iron Hills, but there is no harm in wearing it now."  
  
"Why did you choose Erid Luin?" Fíli asked. He had never really thought about it before, but now that he was he was curious.   
  
"The official reason is that I did not want my presence to cloud the succession, Dain earned his position as Lord of the Iron Hills with bravery and blood."  
  
"And the unofficial reason?"  
  
Thorin shook his head with a smile. "We'd have killed each other before the end of the first year," he predicted fondly. "Dain and I can only stand each other's company for a few weeks before we start butting heads."  
  
"I think I'll have to see it to believe it," Fíli confessed with a chuckle. Thick grey clouds had gathered around the peaks of the mountain range as they walked and a flash of lightning threw the surrounding rocks into sharp relief for a split second. "We might want to see about finding some shelter," he suggested, tugging his cloak closed against the rising wind.  
  
"We have a little time before the storm hits," Thorin decided, peering forward. "If we can make that gully ahead there might be a cave."  
  
The two dwarves pulled up their hoods and bent their heads against the chilly wind as they picked up the pace, the rest of the company swiftly following suit.  
  
  
  
  
Several hours later, the company were inching their way along a narrow ledge in the pouring rain with no caves in sight. Bilbo had already nearly slipped when the edge had crumbled under his feet, luckily Dwalin and Bofur had managed to grab him just in time. Fíli had worked his way back down the line since talking with Thorin and was climbing along next to Kíli when Dwalin bellowed a warning and a gigantic boulder crashed into the cliff just ahead and above the company.  
  
"Mahal's balls," Kíli cursed. "Where did that come from?"  
  
Fíli blinked the water from his eyes and peered through the gloom. The slope on the other side of the gully seemed to be moving. Had the storm caused a rock slide? He pressed his back firmly against the rock and gripped Kíli by the arm, checking the face above their heads for signs of movement. Kíli suddenly tightened his grip and pointed at where the rock was no longer falling, but rising up, high above the top of the gully they were crouched in.  
  
"Bless me!" Bofur exclaimed, his voice rising above the howling storm. "The legends are true! Stone giants!"  
  
Fíli thought that his uncle could perhaps focus a bit more on how they were going to escape from the mythical beings rather than being enthralled by their existence in the first place.   
  
Thorin yelled for everyone to take cover, although where exactly they were supposed to find cover on a rapidly crumbling ledge over a yawning abyss Fíli wasn't sure. He prepared to make a run for it, forwards as another giant had appeared on the slopes behind them, but then a crack appeared between Kíli's boots and he froze.  
  
Kíli danced to the side, graceful as ever in the driving rain, and Fíli watched in horror as a third giant that they had been climbing across without realising started to move, splitting the company across its legs.  
  
"Kíli!" he bellowed   
  
The giant they were unwittingly riding stumbled back, giving the first half of the company an opportunity to scramble back onto the cliff path, and Fíli spared half a second to be glad that Bifur and Kíli were now safe, or safer at least, before he had to turn all his attention back to holding on. Bombur and Bofur each had one hand on the giant and one hand on his shoulder as they tried to keep their eyes open against the driving rain and looked for an opportunity to jump.  
  
The giant swayed, seemingly not doing particularly well in the brawl between the three titanic creatures. Fíli held on tight, bruising his hands on the rock as the giant took another bone jarring step and the pale faces of their companions disappeared into the gloom.   
  
"Hold on," Bombur rumbled as the giant swayed forward and the cliff side began to approach at an alarming rate. "Jump on my mark."  
  
Trusting to his Uncle, Fíli shifted into a better position to jump forward and waited.  
  
"Now!"  
  
He pushed off with all his might, falling onto the blessedly still stone of the mountain path with relief. Bombur lay for a moment and groaned, but Fíli pushed to sit up, grimacing as he put his hand in a puddle. The rest of the company rounded the corner with wide eyes, cheering in delight when they found them unharmed.  
  
Until Bofur realised that Bilbo was no where to be seen and Ori barely gripped his hand in time to stop him from falling.  
  
Fíli was shocked at the speed at which Thorin threw himself off of the side of the path to hoist the hobbit to safety, displaying a grace of movement that Fíli was more used to seeing in Kíli rather than their uncle. Aside from that, Thorin had been scowling and muttering about the hobbit since they had started teaching him iglishmêk and had been against him coming on the journey since he had fainted onto his own woollen rug back in the Shire.  
  
Then Thorin delivered a scathing diatribe before stomping off after Dwalin, leaving Bilbo cold and shaking against the wet rock and Fíli was disappointed in him all over again. Any one of them could have slipped after being thrown from a giant onto a narrow path, it was only chance that it had been Bilbo so stranded.   
  
He stayed beside Bilbo as they all trailed after Thorin, helping the hobbit as he stumbled over his own oversize feet.  
  
"Is he always like that?" Bilbo stuttered through chattering teeth.  
  
"I wouldn't know," Fíli admitted, looking forward to Kíli's soaked blue hood. "My brother knows him better than I."  
  
"Oh-of course," Bilbo said quickly. "Do you think we will have a fire tonight? I'm wet through."  
  
"Probably not," Bofur said quietly as word spread quickly down the line that a cave had been found. "But we should be able to change into dry clothes and warm up a bit once we're in the cave."  
  
"We won't want for water at least," Fíli said grimly, blinking rain out of his eyes as he passed into the shelter of the cave.  
  
Bifur appeared in front of him, rain dripping from the axe embedded in his forehead, and gripped him by both shoulders. "Kidhuzurâlê! Birashagimi barufûn," he said, looking to Bofur and Bombur.  
  
"Don't be sorry," Bofur said as Fíli was pulled into a crushing embrace. "You were only a few steps ahead."  
  
Bifur took a step back only to be immediately replaced by a shaking Kíli. Fíli gripped back just as tight this time and shuffled them to the side of the cave to slump against the stone and each other as the rest of the dwarves began to remove their soaked layers and comb their tangled hair.  
  
Kíli's breath was warm and comforting against his neck as Fíli held him close, pushing back his hood to stroke his hand over his damp hair. "We're ok, kurkarith, we all came through alright."  
  
"I know," Kíli gasped. "I don't know why I'm so scared after, I just am."  
  
"Take as long as you need, nadad," Fíli said, waving Balin away when the older dwarf started to approach them. "I'm not going anywhere,"  
  
Gandalf had used his staff to illuminate the cave somehow, and he could see Dori and Nori bracketing a shivering Ori on the opposite wall. Bombur was wringing the water out of his beard while Thorin and Gandalf talked quietly. Once they were out of the biting wind the temperature had risen to bearable, and although Fíli would quite like to change into dry socks, he was reasonably comfortable as he waited for Kíli's shuddering to subside.  
  
No one was watching them, so he ducked his head to press a quick kiss to Kíli's hairline, an innocent enough gesture had anyone chanced to look up. It was worth the slight risk - Kíli relaxed and melted against him for a long moment, before straightening up with a wavering smile.  
  
"I'm all right now," he promised. "And ready for a dry shirt."  
  
"I feel like I've fallen in a lake," Fíli agreed. They settled a short distance apart to strip off their wet things and go through their packs.  
  
"Tharkûn, can you dry clothes with magic?" Dori asked, looking up from where he was fussing with Nori's braids.  
  
The wizard scoffed at that and pretended to be offended, but Fíli noticed that the temperature in the cave rose a few degrees, enough that they would all be mostly dry by morning. At least the waterproofing on his boots was holding up, he reflected with satisfaction as he changed his socks, wet from his knees to mid-calf. If the leather cracked he would truly be miserable.  
  
  
  
  
Fíli woke to a strange hissing noise and sat up just as Bofur and Bilbo shouted an alarm - and then they were all falling into darkness. He'd been using his pack as a pillow and his left arm was tangled in the strap, but he was thankful despite the discomfort as it hit him repeatedly in the side of the head because it meant that at least he still had it with him as they slid down rough stone chutes that caught and dragged at their clothing.   
  
They landed heavily in a pile of groaning limbs and Fíli barely had time to orient himself in the smoky torchlight before the goblins converged on them and began poking them forward with large spears, stealing as many weapons with their bony fingers as they could manage while the dwarves were at a disadvantage.   
  
"Where's Gandalf?" Dori demanded.  
  
"Where's Bilbo?" Bofur called back.   
  
But they had no time to search for either party as the goblins drove them forward.  
  
The question of where Gandalf had disappeared to was answered shortly after Thorin had finished insulting the Goblin king, but Bilbo was still missing. Being smaller and lighter than the dwarves, Fíli was worried that he had somehow overshot the landing zone and tumbled to his death.  
  
"No, he landed on top of me," Glóin huffed as they raced along, the screeching from the goblins echoing off of the passage walls. "Got his hairy foot right in my face, there was no mistaking it."  
  
Bofur twisted to look at the passage behind them. "Then where is he?"  
  
They were running near the back of the group, following the light from Gandalf's staff with no real hope of changing their running order in the narrow passageway. Fíli was certain that if the wizard knew the burglar was missing he would want to stop, but they had no way of letting him know without also alerting the goblins to their position.  
  
Finally they reached a shallow cave that opened into a forest on the eastern slopes of the mountains and they tumbled out into bright sunshine. Gandalf paused on a small rise, counting the company as they passed him.   
  
"Bilbo is missing!" Bofur told him, skidding to a halt. "We have to go back and look for him!"  
  
"We don't have time to look for a dead body!" Dwalin snarled. "We need to move!"  
  
"Not dead!" called a clear voice as Bilbo ran lightly into the centre of the group. "Sorry, I fell behind a bit, but I managed to keep ahead of the spears."  
  
Thorin was looking at Bilbo with an odd expression on his face. "Why?" he snapped. "Why did you follow? Why did you not turn back to your soft life when we left Rivendell?"  
  
Bilbo put his hands on his hips and glared up at Thorin. "My home is important to me, and I do miss it," he declared. "I miss my books and my armchair and my lovely bed most of all. I miss my home." He took a step forward and poked Thorin in the chest with a stiff finger. "And that's why," he continued. "Because you also miss your home, it was taken from you. So I will help you take it back, if I can."  
  
Seemingly satisfied with his speech, he tucked his thumbs into his trouser pockets and went to stand next to Bombur. The buttons were missing from his waistcoat, Fíli realised as the garment gaped open. It made the little creature look strangely casual. Thorin had been rendered speechless, possibly by the audacity of their burglar. Fíli doubted that any dwarf had ever dared to poke the great Thorin Oakenshield in the chest before after all.  
  
"Let's get moving!" he called to the party when no one else did more than stand and stare at either Thorin or Bilbo. "We need to be some distance away before sunset and it is already past noon."  
  
All things considered, they hadn't fared too badly in the goblin caves. Their slide down from the cave to the city had saved them at least a day of hiking, and only Nori and Dwalin had lost their packs. Óin, Bifur and Balin hadn't managed to recover their weapons from the pile when Gandalf rescued them, and Kíli's bow had snapped in half during the fall, but other than those losses and a number of spectacular bruises, the company were relatively unscathed from their narrow escape.  
  
Glóin passed his remaining throwing axe to his older brother as they walked along, and Fíli found a spare short sword in his pack to give to Bifur. Kíli had laughed when he had seen how many weapons Fíli had packed, so Fíli made a point of walking next to him after handing it over.  
  
"Told you it would come in useful," he said, nudging his brother in the side. "And you said that I'd brought too many! You still have your sword, right? It was just your bow that snapped?"  
  
"Yes," Kíli said morosely, kicking at a small pebble. "I'm trying to decide if I should keep the pieces and my quiver or toss the lot."  
  
"Keep it," Fíli suggested. "The arrows are well made, and we might come across a replacement. We found two swords from Gondolin in a troll hoard after all."  
  
"That's true," Kíli agreed, perking up.  
  
They were making their way along the top of a ridge looking for a way down to the grassy plains below when the first howl split the air, sounding as if it came from straight behind them.   
  
"Take cover!" Thorin shouted. Fíli looked around helplessly. The trees were straggly and far apart, there was no undergrowth to speak of and the land sloped away to either side; they were completely exposed.  
  
"Into the trees!" Gandalf called, and Fíli looked forward to see him boosting Bilbo up to a low branch.  
  
Bombur boosted Fíli, Bifur and Bofur into a sturdy pine tree. Wrapping their legs firmly around the branches, they lent back down to pull the rotund dwarf up, out of the range of the wargs that appeared scant seconds later, snapping at the lower branches. The wargs were heavier than even Bombur, and the branches would not hold them, instead snapping and sending them plummeting back down with snarls of disappointment.  
  
Fíli wormed his way higher to keep an eye on the rest of the company. Kíli, Thorin, Balin and Dwalin were in one tree, while Gandalf, Bilbo and Ori were in a tall pine close to the edge of the ridge. The tree that Nori and Glóin had taken refuge in was shaking terribly under the attacks of the Wargs, and the wolf beasts concentrated their attention once they realised it was likely to fall.  
  
"Jump!" Dori shouted from the tree next to theirs. "I'll catch you!"  
  
Both dwarrows kicked off at the same time, soaring through the air and crashing into Dori's tree. The poor pine snapped backwards and fell onto one of the wargs, who whimpered and was snapped at by the others.  
  
A flaming pinecone soared from Gandalf's tree as the wargs concentrated their efforts on the pine holding Kíli and Thorin. Before long flames were licking across the forest floor and the dwarves were concentrated in three tall pine trees right on the edge of the ridge, a wall of fire between them and the snarling wargs.  
  
Then the orcs arrived.  
  
Fíli had more pressing matters to concentrate on than the shouted conversation between Thorin and Azog as the tree that they were perched in, weakened by the fire, had started to dip alarmingly towards the steep drop at the edge of the ridge. It was a tricky jump to the next one, and they nearly lost Bofur when the branch he pushed off of cracked at the wrong moment and his jump fell alarmingly short, but Bifur managed to swing out and grip his forearm in a climbing clasp.  
  
Everything seemed to happen very quickly after that as the overloaded trees groaned and tilted, and Azog taunted Thorin. He wasn't all that surprised when Thorin abandoned the tree to charge at the pale orc, although he wished that he would have at least given them the opportunity to provide some proper back up. Then Ori slipped, Dori caught him but barely and Gandalf was entirely absorbed making sure that the two brothers didn't fall to a messy death.  
  
Fíli and his uncles watched in astonishment as Bilbo darted after Thorin, his glowing blue dagger raised high above his head. The hobbit disappeared into the smoke and flame, and Fíli knew that Bifur was not going to let the little creature go into battle alone, so he started sliding his way down the tree. He reached the smoking pine needles at the same time as Kíli, and they shared a grin as they drew their weapons and raced forward, closely followed by Bifur and Dwalin.  
  
"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" they bellowed in unison as they fell upon the closest orcs. They somehow managed to take them by surprise, the orcs being more concerned with the small hobbit that just finished stabbing the white warg of their leader. Thorin was lying senseless behind Bilbo, his face streaked with blood, and Fíli's heart clenched in fear. If he was dead, what would become of the quest?   
  
A fresh scream rent the air and Fíli and the orc he was fighting both looked up in astonishment. Fíli was knocked back by a sudden wind and when he scrambled to his feet again his opponent was no where to be seen.  
  
"The eagles have come!" Bilbo shouted, running back towards the edge of the ridge. An eagle swooped down behind him as he ran and lifted him into the air by the straps of his pack.  
  
"They're picking up the orcs and dropping them!" Kíli shouted. "We need to get to Thorin!"  
  
But they'd barely made it half the distance when they were also lifted into the air, boots dangling uselessly above the burning trees. The eagle dropped them one at a time onto two others, and Fíli did his best not to pull at the neck feathers as he held on, lying on his stomach across the eagle's back. The feathers felt strange beneath his fingers, soft and yet held away from the bird's body with hard shafts almost like a springy net of branches. He didn't want to risk snapping any of them.  
  
The eagle gave a piercing cry that made his ears ring and slowed their pace a little. At slower speeds the wind abated somewhat and Fíli found that he was able to sit up a little and balance himself, carefully sliding his boots either side of the eagle's neck. The bird seemed to approve and once Fíli was securely seated it sped up again, regaining it's place in the long formation that carried the members of the company away from the battle.  
  
Fíli's eyes were watering, but he managed to make out his uncle Bifur and Bilbo on the back of the eagles. Gandalf's distinctive figure sat upright on a handsome dark brown eagle at the front of the formation and Kíli's eagle was somewhere behind him but he didn't quite dare turn around in case he slip. Bombur was suspended between two birds, and he couldn't see Thorin at all.  
  
His stomach lurched as the eagle tipped into a shallow dive and his ears began to hurt. He could see the pattern ahead as the great birds began to circle a strange spire of rock. It looked to be the sort of place a bird would have no problem taking off of, a cross between a natural formation and a ruined tower of pale stone protruding from a deep green woodland.  
  
"Thank you for rescuing us," he shouted over the wind.  
  
The eagle turned their head slightly and peered at him with one large, golden eye. They let out a soft cheeping noise that Fíli wouldn't have expected such a large creature to be able to produce, before turning their attention back to their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Iglishmêk - Gesture-code/sign language.  
> Kidhuzurâlê - My/our golden one  
> Birashagimi barufûn – I'm sorry kinsman  
> Kurkarith - little raven  
> Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu! - Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!


	10. An Uninhibited Layover

Arriving at Beorn's house was like returning to the Shire, if the Shire had been home to honeybees the size of butterflies. Fíli felt safe behind the thick, thorny hedges that encircled the shapeshifter's hall, even safer than he had in Rivendell with its incomprehensible magical defences. Bilbo and Bofur were in their element, working in the kitchen with the sheep and dogs and learning new dishes to add to their repertoire.   
  
Kíli, on the other hand, wasn't looking as relaxed as the rest of the company. He was quiet at meals, and although he joined in the singing during the evenings, he spent a large part of his day in the gardens alone.  
  
Bombur, as was his habit, had requested his nephew's assistance in the kitchen, so for the first two days Fíli didn't notice the extent of Kíli's solitude, but once he had he was determined that it would not continue. Dwarves were not built to be alone.  
  
Making his excuses to his uncle and the hobbit, he washed the honey from his hands and headed out the door in search of his wayward brother. Kíli wasn't all that hard to find, sitting in the wildflower meadow with a face like thunder. Fíli flung himself down on the grass beside him and, after a quick glance around to be sure that they were alone and hidden from the house by the raspberry canes, wrapped his arms around Kíli's waist and buried his face into his hip.   
  
"I've missed you," he complained. "Fancy coming and helping in the kitchen tomorrow? Bombur would love it."  
  
"I.... Maybe," Kíli said hesitantly, burying his restless fingers in Fíli's thick hair. "I've missed you too."  
  
"I get why you've been spending time out here," Fíli assured him, letting go and rolling so that his head landed square in his brother's lap. He squinted up Kíli's dark outline against the relentless blue sky. "It's beautiful."  
  
"It is, but that's not why I..." Kíli tailed off, chewing at his lip, and began to fuss with Fíli's braids. The blond lay back and enjoyed the attention, not wanting to push Kíli if the younger dwarf wasn't ready to talk. Kíli got enough of that from Dwalin and Balin. Instead he hummed the melody to a history song and enjoyed the sunshine warming his face.  
  
He was repeating the song a second time when Kíli tentatively joined in, a little hesitant on the more complicated parts but carrying the main tune well enough and Fíli couldn't help the smile that stretched his cheeks although that made it hard to maintain the sound.  
  
"That was good," he said once he'd let the last note fade away. "I'll have to teach you the words."  
  
"What's it called? It's a song of Khazad-dûm, right?"  
  
"Veggr's Promise. Do the braids on the other side please, or I'll be uneven."   
  
They shifted so that Kíli could reach the other side of his head more easily, and the dark haired dwarf set to finger combing and unravelling the dishevelled locks on that side as Fíli started to sing quietly.  
  
Shining silver stains the floor  
Trees of holly guard the door  
My eyes weep to see no more  
The carven halls of stone  
  
Oh Khazad-dûm! So bright and fair!  
Life is cruel to leave me here  
Braids of mourning weigh my hair  
I walk these halls alone  
  
Oh Khazad-dûm! So fair and bright!  
But what is beauty without sight?  
My world is wreathed in darkest night  
Too far the light had flown  
  
Yet still I know beneath my hand  
The heartbeat of my motherland  
Here I'll live, sight be damned  
I'll never leave my home  
  
"It's sad and defiant all at the same time," Kíli said once he'd finished, his clever fingers tying off the last braid. "Sort of how I feel right now."  
  
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Fíli promised him. "I came out to keep you company, not to pry."  
  
Kíli shook his head and bent down to press a kiss to Fíli's forehead. "I have enough secrets from the rest of the family, I don't want to hide anything from you." He stroked his hands down Fíli's shoulders and sighed. "It's silly."  
  
"No it's not," Fíli objected. "If it's bothering you then it's not silly. You want to break it down for me into what you're sad about and what you're feeling defiant about?"  
  
Kíli shrugged. "They're the same thing really - being the heir to Erebor. I don't- we got over the Misty Mountains and we're so much closer and I feel like I'm travelling towards a cage made of expectations to lock myself in."  
  
Fíli blinked up at him. "That was unexpectedly poetic, you should write it down for Litr," he suggested. As he'd hoped, the irrelevant comment made Kíli huff out a reluctant laugh. "I'm not going to pretend that I know enough about the duties of an heir to know exactly which duties and expectations will trap you, but I can tell you that you will not be alone. Thorin will live for decades yet, and we still don't know what happened to Thrain, perhaps he will come back and Thorin will be heir and you'll just be first in line."  
  
"I don't want to be in the succession at all," Kíli grumbled. "The more I learn about it, the less I want to do it. All the talking to people and negotiating and being polite and diplomatic. I'm not good at it."  
  
Fíli privately thought that that didn't sound all that bad, but Kíli wasn't him after all. He seemed to have a much higher tolerance for small talk, and he liked using words rather than fists to resolve situations. Kíli on the other hand was more of a loner, wasn't comfortable with crowds and often tripped over his own words.  
  
"Who is next in line if you step down?" he asked, reaching up to run his fingers down the thin braid that hung behind Kíli's ear. "Dain of the Iron Hills, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, but he has the Iron Hills to manage."  
  
"Then his son after him, another Thorin, right?"  
  
"Thorin Stonehelm, two years younger than me," Kíli nodded. "I visited him once, he's all right. Dain is a nutter." He grinned and launched into a story that started with planning a hunting trip and finished with Thorin and Dwalin covered in pig slop while Dain laughed so hard he fell over into a mud hole and ended up the filthiest of them all. 

Satisfied that he had made his point - that the succession did not start and end with Kíli - Fíli settled back to listen and make noises in the appropriate places.  
  
"Thank you for coming to find me," Kíli said quietly once they had both stopped laughing. "I missed you."  
  
Fíli smiled up at him. "I missed you too. Beorn's place is huge, but it's mostly all one big room apart from the bathing area."  
  
"Some nice, secluded spots in the garden though," Kíli pointed out with an appreciative leer as his eyes traced over Fíli's relaxed body. He smoothed his hands over the loose cotton shirt he had pulled on to work in the kitchen and bent down to claim his lips in a soft kiss.  
  
Fíli twisted to sit up, breaking the kiss and tipped Kíli back into the bank of wildflowers, pressing his lips to his stubbled neck as his hands pushed the blue linen tunic he wore up under his arms to expose his stomach.  
  
"Fee!" Kíli gasped as Fíli's calloused fingers brushed past his nipples.  
  
"Shhh," Fíli admonished as he wormed his way down to press wet kisses to Kíli's abs. "Don't want the Uncles hearing us. Or anyone else, for that matter."  
  
Kíli's cock was already making an admirable bulge in his undergarments and Fíli took his time to unwrap him like a present which Kíli writhed with impatience and did his best to stifle his frustrated groans in his tunic. Fíli's own erection pressed hard and heavy in its confinement, but he had decided that Kíli came first. His little brother was sure to return the favour afterwards in any case.  
  
Finally bared to the late summer sun, Fíli took a moment to admire the well formed cock that sprang forth. It was the first he had ever touched, beside his own, and the first he had ever tasted. It would be the last, for if Kíli moved on Mahal knew he would never take another lover. He bent his neck to lick at the rosy head and enjoy the muffled gasp of reaction as Kíli's hips twitched.  
  
"Don't choke me now," he requested. "I know it's been a while since Rivendell."  
  
"Too lon-ah!" Kíli cried as Fíli took him into his mouth.  
  
It had indeed been many nights and miles since Rivendell, and Fíli's jaw had barely begun to ache when Kíli bucked with a helpless curse and spilled into his mouth. His seed was sweeter than usual, flavoured with the copious amounts of honey they had consumed since arriving.  
  
"Delicious," Fíli proclaimed with a smirk. He lay back next to a panting Kíli with one arm behind his head and roughly palmed his trapped erection with the other.  
  
Kíli didn't make even a token effort to right his clothing, instead choosing to pounce and pin Fíli to the ground with one hand and his knees as he worked on his brother's clothing with the other hand and his teeth. Fíli was content to be trapped, flattered and aroused by the dark haired dwarf's enthusiasm as his clothes were manhandled and his cock gently freed from the encumbering layers of cotton and leather.  
  
Kíli's mouth was hot and his tongue eager and darting as he swallowed Fíli whole. The blond twined his fingers into Kíli's hair and put all of his concentration into holding on for as long as he could, not wanting to embarrass himself by peaking in the first five seconds. He shut his eyes against the bright blue of the sky and did his best to just feel, shutting out the humming of the honeybees and the soft rustle of the breeze through the hedgerows that ringed the garden.  
  
Kíli sucked as if he were trying to draw the seed straight from his stones and Fíli bit his lip to stifle his groan. Everything felt oversensitive, he could feel the blood rushing just under his skin, and yet nothing else mattered, not the tickle of the grass nor the way his shirt bunched uncomfortably under his arms, when compared to Kíli's soft lips and clever tongue working hard and fast at his sensitive cock. His stones drew up, heavy and hard, and Kíli hummed in satisfaction. The vibration made Fíli shudder with stimulation and he dug his teeth harder into his lip in an effort not to make noise or thrust and choke Kíli as he came.  
  
Kíli collapsed sideways onto his stomach and huffed a quiet laugh. "You taste good too," he said, one brown eye visible over the mound of crumpled shirt. Fíli extracted his fingers from the tousled dark hair and began to comb through the soft locks. It wasn't cold in the garden, and they could afford a few more minutes of dishevelment as they both relaxed, he figured. Kíli closed his eyes with a happy sign and burrowed closer.  
  
A choked gasp made both dwarrows look up in alarm, only to find the hobbit, arms full of flowers, staring at them with his eyes and mouth gaping wide.   
  
"Mahumb," Fíli muttered as Kíli sat up and they both began tugging at their clothing. "Sorry Master Baggins, we er..." he tailed off as he realised that he had no idea what to say. Explaining their unorthodox relationship to a third party wasn't something that they had planned for, although in hindsight that was rather stupid.  
  
Bilbo recovered faster than they expected he would. "Thought you were alone?" the hobbit suggested, sorting through the flowers in his hands. "I think you should have these." He handed over three white flowers and seven red ones, which Kíli accepted with a frown of confusion.  
  
"Uh, thank you?"  
  
Bilbo shrugged. "I've technically just insulted you, not sure that you should thank me," he said, politely looking up at the sky as Fíli hurriedly laced his breeches. "Gardenia for secret love, and geranium for stupidity." He considered the rest of the flowers for a moment, and then extracted a yellow one with a long stem. "And a poppy. For success." Kíli added it to the red and white bunch and looked at Fíli helplessly.  
  
"I guess flowers have meanings like gemstones do," Fíli said, looking at the colourful blossoms in Kíli's hand. "I guess they are pretty, even if they're insulting us."  
  
Kíli turned back to Bilbo, who was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and looked like he was about to leave. "Please don't tell anyone!"  
  
The hobbit sighed, contemplated the ground for a moment, and then sat down. He laid the flowers remaining in a pile and picked three from the heap. "I suppose it's your business," he said as his quick fingers began to bend the stems. "Although given your reactions, I suppose it's as frowned upon for Dwarves as it is for hobbits?"  
  
"It's not like we can have children," Fíli pointed out. "Which is the usual reason for disapproval."  
  
"And we didn't grow up together," Kíli added. "So we're not, um, traditional brothers."  
  
Bilbo added another two yellow blooms to his weaving. "How did this even start?" he asked, immediately following up with an apology; "Sorry, curiosity is a trait of mine."  
  
Fíli and Kíli looked at each other. "We, ah, we didn't know..."  
  
"We didn't recognise each other when we met, and we flirted," Fíli said quickly. "And then we did, but by that time..."  
  
Bilbo nodded understandingly as he added another flower. "First impressions stick," he agreed quietly. "Bombur mentioned to me that Dwarves only love once, if at all."  
  
"I thought I would be craft-wed," Fíli agreed, and at Bilbo's puzzled expression launched into an explanation of dwarven customs as Bilbo's flower weaving got longer and began to curve gently.  
  
"What are you making?" Kíli asked when Bilbo lifted the creation to eye it critically along it's length.  
  
"A flower crown for Beorn, he asked me to," Bilbo explained. "I think this might be big enough to close off now. His head isn't that much larger than ours, when he's a man at least. This is twice the length I'd usually do, hopefully it will be enough."  
  
"Will you keep our secret?" Kíli asked as Bilbo turned his rope of flowers into a loop.  
  
The hobbit sat for a moment and looked at them both. Fíli felt the need to fidget under his calm gaze, but Kíli sat proud and upright as they waited for Bilbo to make his decision. After a long moment, the hobbit sorted through his remaining flowers and extracted a rope of Ivy. He broke off a few inches from one end and handed it to Kíli to add to their bouquet.  
  
"I will," the hobbit promised with a determined tilt to his head. "Now, I must finish this off for Beorn." He started to weave the rest of the ivy around the crown, tucking the leftover flowers into the loops it made.  
  
"It's beautiful," Fíli said as they watched him work. "I take it that it has a significance as well?"  
  
Bilbo shrugged. "I felt a bit bad that we turned up unannounced without a host gift," he explained. "It wasn't too bad at Rivendell, that's basically a village, but here I feel like we might be eating into Beorn's winter stores."  
  
"The company will pay him for his hospitality," Kíli reassured the hobbit.   
  
"That's not quite personal enough for my traditions," Bilbo explained. "Although I thank you for letting me know. Right, I'll get this to Beorn now, and leave you to, ah, well, you know."  
  
Looking almost as uncomfortable as he had done at the beginning of the conversation, the hobbit darted away, leaving only a soft impression in the grass and the small tricolour posy in Kíli's hand.  
  
"What are we supposed to do with the flowers?" the dark haired dwarf asked. "I think it would be very rude to throw them out, even if they are an insult."  
  
"Bombur gave Skirfyr a rose for their anniversary once, and she pressed it between paper and it dried flat," Fíli said. "I think she put it in a frame in their bedroom."  
  
"Did it keep it's colour when it dried?" Kíli asked. "Most herbs turn sort of greyish."  
  
"No, it was still pink, I think," Fíli said, screwing his face up as he tried to remember. "I don't think they did anything strange to it beforehand, just took the flower and flattened it between two sheets of paper, then they put a flat rock on top, and a heavier stone on top of that one and left it for a while."  
  
Kíli nodded thoughtfully. "How long did that take though? We'll be moving on from here in a few days."  
  
"Let's see if Ori will spare some paper first," Fíli decided. "We can always clamp the pages together rather than weighing them down."  
  
Ori did have paper, more than one dwarf could reasonably use, and although he took some persuading he did eventually agree to share with them.  
  
“Why did Bilbo give you flowers?” The scholarly dwarf asked them as they carefully arranged the blossoms on the paper.  
  
Fíli froze but Kíli shrugged casually. “He saw us in the gardens when he was making a gift for Beorn, guess he just felt like it.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Ori said. “They are quite pretty.”  
  
The conversation was interrupted by Dori, who was fussing about laundering all the clothes so that they had time to dry properly before they headed across the plains to the Greenwood. Beorn refused to call it the Greenwood, instead naming it Mirkwood and advising the Hobbit not to set foot under the shadow of the trees. He didn’t seem to care all that much about the dwarves going in though, still watching them with suspicion in his eyes as they walked around his home.  
  
The saving grace seemed to be the music in the evenings, and that they hated Orcs as much as he did. The tall shadow of the shapeshifter was always on the periphery of the group as they played and sang.  
  
“I cannot say that I will be sorry to see you go,” Beorn told them honestly over dinner that evening - vegetable stew and bread baked by Bombur. "But I will speed you on your way to the boarders of my land. The ponies have agreed to bear you the distance and no further."  
  
"Thank you, that is very kind," Gandalf said pointedly before any of the company had had a chance to do more than open his mouth to complain.  
  
"It will save you some time," Beorn said placidly. "I will know if you try to force them further afield into unsafe lands."  
  
The threat was idly made but Fíli did not doubt that the giant meant it.  
  
  
  
Feeling somewhat ashamed by Bilbo’s example - Beorn loved the wreath that he had made and wore it proudly at dinner, Fíli left Bombur to prepare food with Bilbo and busied himself with his tools, sharpening every knife in the kitchen before he moved onto the gardening tools outside in the shed.  
  
“What are you doing with my axe, dwarf?” Beorn asked once he noticed Fíli in his workshop.  
  
“Smoothing out this nick in the blade before I sharpen it,,” Fíli explained. Beorn stared at him for a long moment, before picking up the hoe from the pile that Fíli had already looked at and testing the edge.  
  
“You have repaired this.”  
  
It was a statement, not a question, so Fíli continued to work on the axe as Beorn checked through the rest of the tools in the pile. Finally, the giant grunted in apparent satisfaction and started to hang them back in their proper places in the shed.  
  
“Thank you, dwarf,” he said once he was done.  
  
“No thanks are needed,” Fíli assured him. “I am thanking you for your hospitality. I believe that actions would carry more weight than words or gold in this case; after all, you will not have much opportunity to spend it.”  
  
Beorn gave a strange, barking laugh. “True enough, master dwarf,” he said, sounding friendlier than Fíli had ever heard him. “What is your name, golden dwarf who sees the value of more than gold?”  
  
“Fíli,” Fíli said, smiling up at him. “At your service.”  
  
Beorn left with the spade he had come in for and Fíli spent the rest of the afternoon working through his collection over oversized garden tools. As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, Uncle Bofur appeared at the door to the shed, and leant against the weathered wood with an approving expression on his face.  
  
“I see you’re making yourself useful,” he said. “Bombur has been complaining that you aren’t helping in the kitchen, but he has Kíli and the Hobbit in there as well as Dori making a batch of jam, so I’m not sure why it’s such a tragedy.”  
  
“You can tell him that I’m not getting into trouble,” Fíli sighed. “In fact, I’m now on first name terms with our host,” he added proudly.  
  
Bofur nearly dropped his pipe in shock. “By my beard, really? That was well done, Thorin hasn’t managed that for all of Gandalf’s talking. He just keeps on calling him dwarf. I’m finding it amusing, truth be told.”  
  
“The constant reminders that Thorin isn’t a King to everyone?”  
  
“He isn’t a king at all,” Bofur snorted. “He’s technically the heir, I know my history and no one quite knows what happened to Thrain. I thought we might hear some rumour of him on the journey, but no luck so far and I have kept my ears open. O‘course, we didn’t really get to question the goblins, but I think they would have bragged about it if they had killed him.”  
  
Fíli set the hand trowel he was working on aside, and started on beating a bent rake back into shape. “You think he was headed to Erebor then? Taking this route?”  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Or going to the Iron hills. It’s a likelier tale than him heading to Moria like Thror did.”  
  
“Thorin seems to think he’ll be accepted as king, and that Kíli will be heir.”  
  
Bofur grimaced at that, his hands quick and practised as he scraped out the old embers from the bowl of his pipe. “I don’t think Kíli wants to be heir, the poor lad is being suffocated under the weight of Thorin and Balin’s expectations and neither of them can see it. He’s been quiet ever since we got to this side of the mountains.”  
  
“I feel guilty about it,” Fíli sighed, staring at the rake without really seeing the tool. “I tried to remind him that he isn’t the end of the line, that there’s Dain, and his son Thorin after him, but I can’t help remembering that once upon a time I was first.”  
  
Bofur blinked at him. “You want to be added back into the succession?” he asked carefully.  
  
“No!” Fíli was quick to assure him. “I have found my craft. I just… I seem to have a better head for negotiation and politics than my brother.”  
  
“You would have been a fine heir,” Bofur said slowly as he packed fresh pipeweed into his pipe. “And I think that if you wanted to, you could learn all the gumph that they are cramming into Kíli’s head. But, kidhuzurâl, I don’t think that you would be happy. Or have much time for your true craft.”  
  
“I don’t think I would be either,” Fíli assured him. “I have no intention of throwing myself before the mining cart to spare my brother. I think I was actually trying to get him to abdicate his position more than anything else. Besides, it would be later than usual, but Thorin could still find a wife and have an heir of his own.”  
  
“He could,” Bofur agreed. “Yet I do not think it likely.” He lit his pipe and sucked on it. “That’s better. Finally managed to clear it properly, it’s been terrible since the storm.”  
  
“Why not likely?” Fíli asked, resuming his work on the rake.  
  
Bofur puffed in silence for a few moments, blowing lazy smoke rings out into the garden. “It’s not common knowledge, but I was speaking with Dori, and he remembered a piece of gossip from the days just before the dragon,” he said eventually. “That a caravan of dwarves had arrived with trade goods, and that amongst their number was a dwarrowdam who caught the eye of the prince.”  
  
“Did she die when Smaug attacked?”  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Dori didn’t know. Thorin might, but I don’t dare ask him, he’s not exactly my biggest fan,, nor I his. He took us coming on the quest for you not for him a bit personally.”  
  
Fíli grinned at that. “Well, uncle, it is rather personal,” he pointed out. “He’s not that good at reading people, look at Bilbo.”  
  
“He’s not that good at seeing what’s in front of his nose, but that’s a Durin trait,” Bofur said, grinning back. “Goes along with his terrible eyesight.”  
  
They both laughed, and then Bofur reached over to tousle Fíli’s braids. “Finish up in here, kidhuzurâl, dinner won’t be long.”  
  
  
That evening, the last before they were due to depart with bags packed and piled by the door, Kíli drew Fíli away from the main group after dinner.  
  
“Fancy taking one last dip in the bathing room before we go?” The younger dwarf asked, a mischievous grin curving his lips. “Everyone else already took their turn, didn’t want to sleep with damp hair.”  
  
“They had a point about that,” Fíli said as he let himself be tugged along.  
  
The bathing room was behind the kitchens, and had a large copper boiler connected to the same firepit that heated the ovens. After dinner, the water would still be pleasantly hot from the embers.  
  
The main bathtub was Beorn sized and took most of the boiler to fill, as well as being too high to comfortably climb into. When the giant had first shown it to them, they had been relieved to find a series of smaller, wooden tubs that were used when the shapeshifter’s companion animals needed bathing. Kíli dragged the largest of these to the boiler outlet and started the water flow.  
  
“I want to wash your hair, if that’s ok,” he confessed, ducking his head to hide his flushed cheeks.  
  
“I have no objections,” Fíli assured him. “I love your hands in my hair. Will you let me wash yours?”  
  
“Whatever you want,” Kíli promised, his words slightly muffled as he tugged his shirt over his head.  
  
Stripped down to his underthings, Fíli pulled a wide toothed wooden comb from his pocket and wandered over to the woven straw storage bins against one wall to select a soap. All of Beorn’s soaps were scented with plants from his garden, and he seemed to enjoy experimenting with them in the winter months.  
  
Fíli picked one that smelled a little like lavender, figuring that the soothing scent would help them get to sleep, and picked up two felted wool washcloths from the basket.  
  
“I’m seriously considering stealing one of these,” he confessed as he joined Kíli next to the bath. “They must be easy enough to make, do you think he’d miss them? They would make washing on the road so much easier.”  
  
“Oh, the same fabric is wrapped around those nut and honey bars he made for us, so we do have some in the packs.” Kíli finished taking off his boots and left them next to the heap of clothing.  
  
“Do you ever fold anything?” Fíli asked in amusement as he finished undressing himself.  
  
“Life is too short to fold things,” Kíli shot back as he shut off the water. “There, I think if we put any more in the tub will overflow once we’re in it.”  
  
“I think it’s going to be a close thing regardless,” Fíli said, eyeing the water level dubiously.  
  
They managed to both climb in without splashing water all over the floor, but just barely. The tub was large enough for them to both submerge themselves, Kíli settling at one end and tugging until Fíli settled against his chest, the water lapping up to his chin as they breathed. Steam rose from the surface of the bath, curling up a few inches before dissipating.  
  
"This is nice," Kíli whispered, stretching out his legs one at a time. "I'm going to miss baths when we are on the road again."  
  
"Erebor has hot springs, right? We'll have to make it a priority to find them."  
  
"There'll be a dragon to deal with first," the younger dwarf sighed. "I think it will be quite a while before my next bath."  
  
"There's Lake Town," Fíli pointed out, trying to steer the conversation onto a more cheerful track. "I expect they have plenty of baths."  
  
Kíli hummed in agreement and lifted dripping hands to run them through Fíli's hair, spreading out in a golden pool around his shoulders. He began to slowly unravel the braids, removing the beads and leaving them on the thick rim of the tub, his motions smooth and unhurried. "I love your hair."  
  
"It's a lucky colour," Fíli agreed, closing his eyes in bliss as Kíli's nails scraped against his scalp. He picked up a small wooden cup and used it to pour warm water over the crown of Fíli's head, carefully positioning his other hand to ensure that he didn't get any in his eyes. Fíli couldn't remember the last time he had felt so taken care of, and resolved to lie back and relax and enjoy the novel sensation.  
  
"It's more than just a lucky colour, it's beautiful," Kíli said as he worked. "It shines brighter than the golden chains our mother keeps in her jewellery box."  
  
Fíli flushed at the compliment, but given the heat of the water and the fact that he was looking the other way, he hoped that Kíli wouldn't notice. The thickness of the wooden planks that made up the tub insulated it well and made it a comfortable place to linger, the lavender scent from the soap lying heavy in the air as they took turns washing each other and rinsing the suds away with handfuls of water.  
  
Eventually though, growing sleepy and with fingers and toes wrinkled from submersion, they drained the bath and wrapped themselves in soft towels. Kíli positioned a small stool in the middle of the floor and pushed Fíli down to sit while he combed through his dripping hair from the bottom up, blotting the water away with a spare towel until it was dry enough to braid.  
  
Kíli straddled his lap to work his moustache braids back in, his dark eyes intent on his task. Fíli wrapped his broad hands around his waist to hold him steady, smoothing the soft skin with his thumbs as Kíli's nimble fingers wove the hair. Once the second was capped with its silver bead, Kíli tipped his chin up and bent down to claim his lips, his own hair tumbling, tangled and dripping still, over his shoulders to brush cool locks against Fíli's cheeks and neck.  
  
"Your turn, nadad," Fíli promised. They changed places and he took the comb from Kíli's unresisting fingers. He knew that they would likely have to endure knowing glances from the hobbit when they returned to the main hall, where even now the deep voices of his kin rumbled on into the night, but for this moment it was just the two of them - clean and warm and intimate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Kidhuzurâl - golden one  
> Nadad - brother


	11. An Unclean Attack

Fíli had decidedly mixed feelings about being on the road again after their short rest at Beorn’s. On the one hand, the table had been full every night and the bathing chamber was the best thing he had experienced since Rivendell. But, unlike Rivendell, the shapeshifer’s hall was not a place where he wanted to stay. Rivendell had been an eye opener, he could have been happy there, working in that wonderful forge. He would even have accepted their mostly vegetarian lifestyle if it meant crafting amongst all the calm beauty of Elrond’s realm.  
  
Unfortunately, Rivendell was leagues behind him, and he hated to think of the explosion that would surely ensue should any of his uncles even suspect that he regretted leaving.  
  
There was an ongoing argument splitting the party that had started once they were out of sight of Beorn’s house. Tired of bread and honey, Dwalin and Glóin were trying to persuade Ori to use his slingshot to bring down some of the brown rabbits that nibbled on the grass and clover they were travelling across, but the younger dwarf refused for fear of angering Beorn.  
  
The group was divided between those who thought that this was a fantastic idea, and those who agreed with Ori. Fíli wasn’t certain, and although the thought of rabbit strew made his mouth water, he didn’t want to risk having to walk the rest of the way to Mirkwood – or possibly run, pursued by an irate bear – for the sake of Bombur’s rabbit stew.  
  
Glóin was still grumbling about it all when they crested the last hill and the dark treeline of Mirkwood emerged, a wide green stain across the horizon slowly turning crimson and umber as the days grew ever colder. The ponies were reluctant to travel the last few leagues, shying at butterflies and bunching uncomfortably close together as their riders urged them forwards. Bofur ended up leading Bilbo’s mount as the light hobbit had trouble controlling the suddenly fractious beast.  
  
At Gandalf’s direction, they dismounted a short distance from a stone pillar choked with vines and set to removing their luggage from the nervous ponies. The shadows of the trees stretched across the grass like reaching fingers and Fíli shivered in the sudden chill.  
  
The Greenwood was certainly living up to its new nickname, he reflected as he pulled his pack from his pony. She had been an excellent mount over the rolling hills and small woodlands that made up Beorn's territory, but the last few leagues had been difficult and it was time for her to turn her nose back towards her own comfortable meadow.   
  
“I still think we would make better time if we kept the ponies,” Glóin grumbled as he shouldered his pack.  
  
“Beorn has been tracking us,” Kíli insisted. “He’d know straight away and come after us I’m sure.” Glóin snorted in disbelief and turned away to speak with his brother, so Kíli turned imploring eyes to Fíli. “You believe me, right?”  
  
“Of course,” Fíli assured him. “You’re the tracker out of the two of us, it would be stupid to ignore your area of expertise.”  
  
Kíli smiled, the expression leaving a warmth in Fíli’s stomach as they joined the group listening to Tharkûn, who hadn’t taken anything from his own tall horse and was halfway through revealing that he was leaving the quest to pursue his own goals. Poor Bilbo looked like he was about to be sick, so Fíli made a point of standing at the Hobbit's side once Gandalf left and the rest of the company returned to seeing to their own ponies.  
  
"It's a bit gloomy in there, isn't it?" he said, peering into the darkness that lay heavy under the trees. "Looks like a good spot to find mushrooms." The hobbit had made no secret of his love for mushrooms in any form, and he was hoping that a search for edible fungus would make a reasonable distraction.  
  
"Eat and drink nothing but that which you carry with you!" Gandalf thundered to the group as he mounted his horse. "I will meet you at the Overlook in the last days of autumn!"  
  
"Oh dear!" Bilbo quavered. "If he had mentioned that earlier, I would have found an extra water skin."  
  
"Uncle Bombur packed spares," Fíli assured him. "He always does."  
  
With the expected number of grumbles and complaints, the company passed one by one through the crumbling carved pillars that marked the entrance to the old elven road through Greenwood the Great, now Mirkwood the Ugly. A strange, lingering mist clung to the ground on either side of the path, and many of the trees were disfigured by a dark tarry substance, as if they were bleeding black sap.  
  
"Don't much like the look of those mushrooms," he heard Bilbo mutter, and followed the hobbit's gaze to a group of white puffballs, shot through with angry red and purple veins.  
  
The path twisted between the mature trees, almost covered in leaves with the stones nearly all dislodged in places. They moved forward slowly, uneasy under the stifling silent weight of the forest. Fíli's head began to ache from the pervasive scent of rot and decay, his eyes burning from constantly squinting through the gloom.  
  
It was hard to tell when the noon break was supposed to take place, but night was obvious as the little light that penetrated the canopy would suddenly vanish and leave the Dwarves scrambling to regroup around the most obvious section of path they could find with their fingers, groping in the sudden dark. They didn't dare light a fire, instead huddling together like baby rabbits with four Dwarves always on watch, eyes straining in the blackness as they listened to the sucking, skittering and crawling creatures of the night.   
  
  
Three days in with the water supplies half exhausted, they came across the remains of a bridge. "There's a boat on the far side!" Bilbo insisted, but no one believed him. Strange fumes rose from the water, smelling of musk and flowers, and the vapour made any who got to close yawn so widely their jaws cracked.  
  
"It's just a log," Ori insisted. "Not a boat at all."  
  
"We should at least try," Kíli said, backing up the hobbit. "Does anyone have a grapple?"  
  
But no one did, and so Bilbo as the lightest of the company was sent to traverse a tangle of vines a few paces downstream. The water seemed to resist their attempts to cross and the soporific fumes increased, reaching damp tendrils of mist that seemed to cling to Fíli's boots as he tested the thickest of the vines. Bilbo was already indistinguishable, vanished into the fog.  
  
"I think he said something," Kíli said, his words punctuated by a wide yawn. "Didn't you hear him?"  
  
"He said he reached the other side!" Bofur said incredulously. "After him lads, the way is safe!"  
  
Buoyed by his confidence, Fíli started to scramble across, surprised when Bilbo's small form became clear almost before he'd left the bank, lying on a vine with his nose close to the surface of the water. Suddenly feeling a little more awake, he and Kíli swung hand over hand and reached down to tug the hobbit up by his pack, the vines bouncing under their boots.  
  
"Careful Master Burglar," Fíli said, stifling yet another yawn. "You nearly fell in."  
  
"So tired," the hobbit slurred in response, but his grip was strong on the vine even though his eyes were drooping.  
  
"We need to get to the other side," Kíli slurred. "Come on."  
  
It was a relief to reach the far bank without disturbing the surface, where Bilbo sat and yawned while Fíli and Kíli anchored themselves to a tree that stood firm on the bank and leant out to help guide the less agile of the company the last few feet. The majority of the company had crossed safely when the sturdy vine suddenly bent under Bombur's weight and their uncle toppled backwards before they could reach to save him, ending up with his boots near the bank resting on a tangle of roots and his head completely submerged.  
  
"Mahumb!" Bifur spat, darting forward with Bofur to drag Bombur from the stream by his ankles.  
  
The ginger dwarf emerged from the water snoring with a smile on his face, Bifur and Bofur looked at each other with identical expressions of exasperation and Fíli sat down heavily, his knees weak with relief.   
  
"Onward!" Thorin bellowed to the group, already standing on the path again. "Quick, wake him up."  
  
"He won't wake Uncle," Kíli called back, having shaken Bombur hard to no avail. "I think the water is charmed!"  
  
"He probably drank some, the greedy sod," Bofur muttered as he eyed the trees around them. "Leave it to me, I'll whip up a stretcher in a jiffy."  
  
"It's going to take half of us to lift him," Glóin grumbled, sitting down to fiddle with his pipe.  
  
To Fíli's surprise, it was Bilbo who rounded on the ginger banker. "Have you or have you not happily been eating his cooking since we left the shire?" he demanded. "Shame on you, Master Glóin. An army marches on its stomach, or so they say, and by that reckoning he has done more for this quest than you have!"  
  
There were no more complaints, none of the others wanting to face the unexpected wrath of their Burglar. True to his word, it didn't take long for Bofur to construct a basic litter to carry his snoring brother on, and Fíli was more than a little surprised when Nori darted forward to help them lift the snoring dwarf.  
  
Still, he was too tired and out of sorts to be anything other than grateful for the assistance.  
  
They stumbled on, their food and water supplies dipping lower and lower and before long every dwarf in the company had bruised shoulders from carrying Bombur's litter, although after the first day none dared complain out loud where the hobbit could hear them.  
  
"Mr Baggins, climb a tree and see if you can see an edge to the woodland," Thorin instructed, stopping by a likely oak, its main trunk devoid of the sticky black sap that stained so many of the trees.  
  
"If we don't come to the edge soon, we're going to run out of water," Bofur predicted gloomily, perching on a tree root to clean out his nails with his knife as he rested his boots on his brother's round stomach.  
  
To their surprise, Bombur huffed out a protest at the weight and rolled away, falling off the litter.  
  
"Uncle?" Fíli called, walking closer to shake his shoulder. "Uncle, wake up, time to cook breakfast!"  
  
With a lot of yawning and face pulling, Bombur sat up and stretched. "What time is it? I'm starving." Fíli and Bofur flung themselves at him with twin cries of delight, sending all three of them crashing backwards into the leaf litter as Bifur laughed, a wide grin splitting his face. "What's all this then?" Bombur grumbled, patting them on the back as they clung to him. "A strange wake up call indeed. Where in Mahal's Halls are we? This place is foul. What is that smell?"  
  
"It's better than what came before," Bofur promised him. "You've been asleep for days."  
  
A strange clicking noise echoed around the company, hard to pinpoint as the sound bounced off of the surrounding trees as the rest of the company crowded round to pound Bombur on the back and congratulate him for escaping the grip of Lórien.  
  
"I think we should get Bilbo back down," Balin said, one hand on his axe. "Can anyone see what is making that noise?"  
  
"Bilbo!" Kíli shouted. "Bilbo, can you hear me?"  
  
But the hobbit didn't respond, and the clicking was growing louder. Fíli and Bofur scanned the ground around them as Bombur struggled to his feet and pulled out his iron ladle. "I'd rather have food than a fight," he said sadly as he looked down at his stomach.  
  
The dwarves formed a loose semi-circle around the base of the tree with their weapons out, unwilling to move on to more defensible ground without the hobbit. Dori and Nori crowded Ori back, and the scholarly dwarf pulled out his slingshot and loaded a round stone, ready to fire on the first target that presented itself.  
  
Then he vanished from their midst with a shriek.  
  
"Ori!" Dori bellowed, brandishing his bolas and nearly taking Glóin's ear off, although the stout banker ducked just in time. "Where did he go?"  
  
"Oh Mahal save us," Kíli whispered from beside Fíli, his cold fingers reaching out to wrap around Fíli's wrist. The blond followed his brother's gaze up into the canopy and found himself face to stinger with a monstrously large spider. He barely had time to lift his swords before a cold pain spread from the back of his neck and everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuzdul Translations:  
>    
> Mahumb – Droppings (feces)  
>    
>    
> Lórien, in case you were wondering, is the Valar of visions and dreams. Lothlórien is sort of a pale shadow of his gardens back in the Undying Lands and was named in memory of them - Galadriel being one of the Noldor who presumably visited them before she was exiled along with her brothers. 
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger ending. Same time next week? :)


	12. An Unreasonable Imprisonment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be able to post tomorrow due to a trip, so I'm putting this out a day early.
> 
> Poor Fíli is unconscious, so we get to see Kíli's POV for the first time! I may have had the first part of this chapter drafted since before I finished chapter 1, and I didn't want to give up on it once it became clear that the whole fic is Fíli's POV, so... Enjoy?

"I could have anything down my trousers," Kíli bluffed, hoping against hope that the annoying elf maid would swing the cell door open again so he could take a step forward and peer down the corridor. He needed to see Fíli, to confirm with his own eyes that the golden dwarf was all right. Seeing him slump to the forest floor as the spider's poison flooded through his system had flooded his veins with icy fear that was slow to dissipate. He did his best not to fidget as he stared up at the tall captain, waiting to see what she would do.  
  
"Or nothing," she replied coldly, raising an eyebrow as if to remind him that he had begged her for a weapon less than an hour ago. He felt hope shrivel within his breast and he stood numb as she moved away, mumbling something in their liquid language to the others.  
  
Kíli waited until their light footsteps faded to press himself against the bars and strain to see further into their prison.  
  
"Fíli?"  
  
"He's still unconscious lad," Bofur said from a cell across the way, his voice low and gentle. "I can just see the edge of his door if I wriggle. I'll keep an eye on him for you."  
  
Kíli thanked his uncle and slumped back onto the stone floor, rejecting the wooden bench provided. Stone was honest in a way that wood was not after all. How had it all gone so wrong? One moment he was on the edge of the family group, watching with a smile as Bombur woke from his enchanted sleep, the next they were under attack and Fíli was lying unconscious on the floor, pale and unmoving with his hands still clenched around his bright swords.  
  
The spiders had attacked from above, agile despite their gross bulk as they seemed to always manage to twist and spin to attack from behind no matter which way you were facing. Kíli had been separated first from the group and then from his sword before the red headed elf had jumped down from the lower branches to slay the monster and take him into custody.  
  
At least the Elves had bothered to pick up the dwarves that had succumbed to the poison, carrying them back to their dungeons. That meant that they were likely to recover, didn't it?  
  
"Uncle Bofur?" he dared ask. "Can you see any of the others?"  
  
"Just Fíli," Bofur replied quietly. "I think he will be able to tell us who is next along once he wakes."  
  
Kíli wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on his folded hands. "Will you sing me a song?" he asked, feeling all of fifteen years old. "Please?"  
  
"Of course, kurkarith," Bofur said at once. There was a scrape of his hobnailed boots on the stone, and then his low voice sounded, reverberating around the twisting walls of the dungeon.  
  
The sun was shining on the peak  
When Durin walked alone  
Rainwater dripped from rill to creek  
He walked the halls of stone  
Alone he hewed, alone he cleaved  
Obeying Mahal’s call  
A burning will in flesh was sheathed  
He knew not how to fall  
  
From shining stars he made his crown  
And marble bright his throne  
But deep and heavy creased his frown  
As Durin walked alone  
By Mahal’s will a change was wrought  
By Mahal’s will we bide  
Remembering, of us he thought  
As we work side by side.  
  
Long he worked the patient stone  
And hewed a new creation  
Jewel bright eyes and iron bone  
To build a firm foundation  
Companions walked, one by one  
Forth from Mahal's halls  
Stepping forth into the sun  
They walked to Durin's walls  
  
No more alone, great Durin cried  
His solitude was broken  
For one was made to be his bride  
Heart full of words unspoken  
By Mahal’s will the change was wrought  
By Mahal’s will we bide  
Remembering, of us he thought  
As we work side by side.  
  
Kíli let the familiar tune lull him into a light doze as he waited for something to happen. His back ached from the fight with the spiders and his shoulder was still sore from carrying Bombur, although he knew that the bruises would be quick to fade once the elves fed them. He didn't need a healer, he just needed rest and food.  
  
He started back to full alertness, his back twinging in protest, when he heard the light footsteps of their captors on the stone stairs. Rushing the three paces to the bars he watched as two disgruntled looking elves stepped into sight carrying woven baskets.  
  
"Get back," one of them ordered, one hand on a dagger he wore at his waist.   
  
Kíli obediently took a step backwards, and with a suspicious glance at him they pushed a bread roll and a metal flagon through the bars of the cell. "Please, my brother, he was stung by one of the spiders-"  
  
"Quiet, prisoner," the same elf cut him off.  
  
Kíli bit his lip and the second elf looked a little uncomfortable. They glanced at the first and murmured something incomprehensible in their own tongue and Kíli wished for the first time in his life that he had been a better student.  
  
The first elf looked at him, his eyes as hard and flat as an unpolished emerald, and then down the corridor in the direction of Fíli's cell. "The elf-friend?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Kíli nodded. "Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell named him elf-friend," he revealed, hoping against hope that this would be enough to sway the stiff necked elves of the woodland realm. At least they hadn't decided that the pendant was faked or stolen somehow.

The other elf spoke again, more insistent this time and the first elf frowned heavily. "If he has not woken by sunrise, I will alert the healer," he said grudgingly as he turned to give food to Bofur.  
  
"Thank you!" Kíli called after them. The second elf looked back at him for a long moment, and then nodded to accept his words.  
  
Breathing out a long sigh of relief, Kíli slumped back against the wall of his cell opposite the cot, where he could just see the edge of Bofur's cell through the bars. The flagon turned out to be plain water, clear and sweet. It was the best thing he had ever tasted and he gladly washed the lingering taste of decay and rot from his teeth.

  
  
Life as a prisoner in the woodland realm wasn't terrible but it wasn't how Kíli would have chosen to spend his time. The elves provided bread and water and allowed them to wash every few days, escorting them one at a time to a small stone room with a spigot in the wall that let in tepid water and bars of soap that smelt like flowers.  
  
Kíli was closest to the exit and had a chance to see the others when they were marched past the cells, hotheaded Glóin in particular raging at his escort that Dwarrows had crafted the halls they lived in and that it was an insult to imprison them within the work of their ancestors.  
  
"Is he right?" Kíli heard Fíli ask Bofur after one particularly loud rant had faded from the echoes.  
  
Bofur shrugged. "I think so, but it's hardly a build that we celebrate in song," he replied, glancing across and meeting Kíli's eyes. He gestured 'he's fine' in subtle iglishmêk and Kíli did his best to smile back. It had taken a long time for Fíli to wake after the spider attack, and once he had he was not quite himself. He complained of dizziness when he moved quickly, and his words came slower than they had before. Each day seemed to see some slight improvement as the poison worked its way from his system, but Kíli still worried.  
  
He had only seen his brother once since the attack, when the guards escorted him to the bathing chamber. The spider sting was a vivid purple stain across the back of his neck and he had stumbled a little as the guards prodded him forwards. Kíli had been glued to the bars of his cell, watching hungrily until he passed around the corner and out of sight, but he hadn't dared to call out lest he be ordered back.  
  
Balin had passed up the line that they should all cooperate with the elves in the hope that Thranduil would somehow relent and let them out. Some of the company were taking that order more seriously than others.  
  
When Fíli had returned, his face was clean of mud and his hair hung in dripping tendrils around his face. Their eyes had met and it took all of Kíli's willpower to keep his fists clenched around the bars instead of reaching out to his brother, his love, his one. The distress over their separation was obvious in Fíli's blue eyes as the elves shoved him forward towards his own cell.  
  
That had been two days ago and the pain of separation had settled into a dull ache that seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat in the centre of his chest.  
  
A strange, scuffling noise broke through the silence, completely different from the soft steps of the elves. Kíli peered as far up the corridor as he could manage but there was nothing there other than shadows that flickered and shifted in the torchlight.  
  
"Did you hear something?" Bofur hissed.  
  
"Yes, but there's nothing there?" Kíli frowned.  
  
"On the contrary," said a familiar voice as Bilbo Baggins suddenly appeared in the corridor. He looked rather thinner than the last time they had seen him, with hollows in his cheeks and dust in his hair, but he was smiling cheerfully. "I've figured out where they keep the keys, and there's a big celebration tomorrow. I'm hoping that inebriated elves are careless elves."  
  
"You just appeared," Bofur said flatly, and Kíli heard gasps echo up from further down the corridor, followed by a series of hissing whispers.  
  
"I found a magic ring," Bilbo said casually, as if it was a perfectly ordinary possession to own. "That's not the important part. I just need to figure out how to get out of the palace, and we'll be all right."  
  
"It was built by dwarves," Fíli said, his voice stronger than it had been the day before. "Ask the others, one of them might remember something. Maybe Glóin, he's been shouting loud enough about it."  
  
"I'll do that," the hobbit promised, smiling around at them before dashing off down the corridor on near silent feet. No wonder the elves hadn't noticed him yet, Kíli reflected. He hoped that such stealth would serve him equally well against the dragon.  
  
The first thing he was going to do once their cells were unlocked was embrace his brother, he decided. It was torture to be so close and yet separated and afraid to speak plainly, seeing a future composed of nothing more than stilted conversations under the weary eye of their uncle, unable to say anything that they truly wanted to say. It would have driven him mad.  
  
"The spider's mark has nearly faded," Fíli said, a new lightness to his voice.   
  
"Turn around, kidhuzurâl, let me see," Bofur instructed. The affection in his voice made something ache in Kíli's gut, although he could never quite figure out if it was jealousy or longing or a strange, twisted mess of the two. They were trying, his new uncles, but their easy intimacy with Fíli was several shafts removed from the tentative way they included him in their banter, eyes wary as they watched for his reactions.  
  
He wanted that easy affection, the hair ruffling and the hugs and the way that they always seemed to know what Fíli needed before the golden dwarf had even begun to look or ask for it, he wanted it almost as much as he wanted Fíli himself.  
  
Thorin and Dis loved him, loved them both and he knew that, he had never doubted it. They just didn't show it the way that Bifur, Bofur and Bombur did, and now he had seen the way that things might have been had his father lived, how it could have been had he not grown to adulthood in a hall stained with sadness.  
  
"It does look better," Bofur said with gruff relief, breaking Kíli from his spiralling thoughts. "Takes more than a stinky spider to take you down, eh?"  
  
"I feel better, haven't had a dizzy spell all day," Fíli told him and Kíli could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
"That's great!" he called down the corridor. "I was worried we'd have to carry you out of here at one point."   
  
"Quiet now," Bofur cautioned. "They're due to feed us soon. I hope that hobbit is well hidden before they do, he'll have a hard time slipping past them on these narrow paths."  
  
Bilbo returned from talking to the others before the guards arrived and whispered that he was going to go see if there was a way down to the river. Their ration today had been expanded from the usual bread and water to include a crisp green apple each, and the whispered instructions passed up and down the corridor of cells was that any dwarf who chose not to eat it was to save it for the hobbit rather than tossing it down the latrine hole in the corner of each cell. It seems that Kíli wasn't the only one who had noticed the hobbit's hollowed cheeks.  
  
Now that they had hope, the endless boredom gave way to frustration as the hours trickled past. Little evidence of the coming celebration made its way down to the cells and Kíli began to worry that Bilbo had been entirely mistaken.  
  
But then, in the middle of the night the hobbit appeared with a ring of keys clenched tight in his slender fingers. He made short work of the cell doors, starting with Kíli and Bofur before moving further on into the dungeon. Kíli did his best to be patient as he waited for Fíli to emerge, but as soon as he saw his brother he couldn't help himself.  
  
Fíli stood firm as he caught him in his arms and Kíli gave into indulgence and buried his face in Fíli's neck, craving the scent of his skin under the intolerably flowery elven soap.  
  
"I'm all right, nadadith," Fíli murmured, affection and warning in one sentence as he smoothed his hands down Kíli's back. "I missed you too."  
  
The ache in Kíli's chest finally eased and Kíli was able to take a deep breath and smile, pulling back to look into Fíli's deep blue eyes. "Ready to escape?" he asked, twisting a little to include uncle Bofur in the question.  
  
"Certainly am," the older dwarf confirmed, stepping closer to sweep them both into a hug. He dropped an affectionate kiss onto Fíli's forehead and, after a hesitation so slight that it was almost unnoticeable, did the same for Kíli.  
  
Kíli couldn't help the beaming smile that stretched his cheeks at the whiskery brush, and Fíli smiled back at him as Bofur squeeze them once more before letting them go. "Come on nidoyîth, let's get out of this Mahal cursed irrîn."  
  
"But what about our weapons?" came a harsh whisper from behind them.  
  
"I couldn't find them," the hobbit snapped, rolling his eyes with exasperation etched onto his face. "Look, you'd think that you'd be happy to leave with your lives. Weapons can be replaced, come on before someone realises that the keys are missing."  
  
The hobbit was locking all the cells as he herded the rest of the company towards the exit, which would hopefully cause additional confusion with regard to their escape and might even give them more of a head start - the guards didn't always peer into the cells and Kíli at least had left his blanket and pillow in a configuration that suggested that he was curled up in the far corner.   
  
Bilbo led the way through passages that twisted like tree roots, darting to the side only once to place the ring of keys on a hook in the wall. As silently as they could manage, thirteen dwarves and one hobbit made their way through the passages of the palace until the scent of wet stone and wood hung heavy in the air and they came to the docks, where a large number of empty barrels were floating, penned in by a thick rope.  
  
"Quick, everyone get in and I'll seal you in," the hobbit said. "There's not much in the way of packing material I'm afraid, but we'll just have to do our best."  
  
"You will do no such thing," Dwalin growled. "What if we are attacked on the route?"  
  
"They won't see you," the hobbit said with weary exasperation. "Who would attack a series of empty barrels. Be reasonable."  
  
Reasonable wasn't Dwalin's best look, but after a tense argument Thorin sided with Bilbo and quickly they tore apart some of the straw bales that were stacked on one end of the dock to pad their improvised craft.   
  
Once each dwarf was as comfortable as could be expected, Bilbo sealed each cask with a lid, giving it just a few light taps to set it into place so that it would be easy to push free once they were clear of the forest. Kíli sat in the dark and waited, his ears ringing with the thud of wood on wood as the barrels jostled together. Then his barrel listed sharply to one side, and he struggled to brace himself and shift his weight to keep it as upright as possible, not liking his chances should he tip over onto one side and let water in through the lid.  
  
He wracked his brains trying to remember the map that he'd copied out back in the blue mountains. How long before the forest river hit the long lake? Would he have to sleep in the barrel or would they come to a landing place and continue on foot?  
  
A stomach dropping lurch followed by a loud bang made him regret eating the apple as it threatened to reappear. They must be underway he reasoned.   
  
He wondered how the hobbit was faring, as surely he couldn't have sealed himself into a barrel. Could hobbits swim?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
>    
> Kurkarith - little raven  
> Iglishmêk - Gesture-code/sign language.  
> Kidhuzurâl - golden one (affectionate family nickname for Fíli  
> Nadadith – little brother  
> Nidoyîth - young boys  
> Irrîn – horror-place


	13. An Underwhelming Reception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following the book more than the film here as I did in the previous chapter - don't worry we still end up in much the same place

Frost rimed the grey beach at the edge of the long lake as the company marched forward towards the cloud of smog that enveloped lake town. The ride down the forest river packed into a barrel was in Fíli's list of the ten most uncomfortable things he had ever experienced, beating out the time he tripped down a small cliff and landed in a patch of stinging vines. 

The current had eventually washed them into a shallow pool around dawn, where a rough jetty had been erected that stopped them from being flung back out into the main flow. Fíli had broken free of his barrel to find a shivering hobbit trying to prise the lids off of the rest of the containers.

"Abbadizu, tashf!" he's called to the rest. "This is no time for sleeping, the hobbit is blue with cold and wet through!"

It hadn't taken long to get everyone out, slightly damp and very sore, and first Ori and then Bifur had given up an extra layer so that the halfling was at least dry on his top half if not his bottom half. The chill of late autumn hung in the air as they made their way around the edge of the lake towards the long low bridge that stretched across the ruffled water to the town of men. 

"Durin's day fast approaches," Balin said cheerfully. "And there is Erebor, rising above the clouds. It does my old heart good to see such a sight."

Fíli did his best not to be too annoyed by the old dwarf's presence. He was concerned for Kíli he knew, and Fíli just happened to be walking next to his brother, unwilling to part again so soon after the forced separation in the cells. Still, it would be easier if the old dwarf would be quiet and let them enjoy the frosty scenery in peace.

"It's a miracle that we still have the map and the key, after all that happened," Balin continued. "And Master Baggins' magic ring will no doubt come in handy as well."

"Do you think we'll reach lake town today?" Kíli asked doubtfully. "It looks like it's still quite a distance away."

Balin looked around for landmarks, but the pebble beach continued, near featureless, into the distance. "We will pass the ruins of Esgaroth first," he said. "Look out for grey worked stone pieces along the edge of the water. The newer Lake Town is built on the edge of the old, using some of the original foundations I believe."

Luckily for Fíli's temper, Balin was called up to the front by Thorin shortly after and puffed his way along the line. Fíli sighed in relief and grinned as Kíli's fingers 'accidentally' brushed against his own.

"I thought he'd ever leave," he confessed. "I am too tired and hungry to listen to him today."

"I think we will be hungrier before we arrive," Kíli sighed. "I wish our escape route had taken us past the kitchens, we could have grabbed something."

The forest to their left was giving way to worked fields, but the harvest had long since been gathered, and gathered thoroughly leaving nothing to glean.

"We could try fishing," Nori suggested glumly to his brothers. "If we had anything to fish with." They were gathered around a small fire on the beach as the sun set over the spires of the Misty Mountains far behind them.

Dori huffed in annoyance and pressed his hands to his forehead. "Nadad, must you talk of food?" he groaned.

"Birashagimi."

Fíli was worried about Bilbo. His trousers had dried over the course of the day, but hobbits were not as sturdy as dwarves and the long trek without food was hard on him. "What about shellfish?" he suggested. "There may be some on the broken causeway."

They had stopped where they had partially because they had nearly lost the light, and partially because the remains of an old causeway to Esgaroth stretched over the beach, providing minimal shelter from the wind. His suggestion was well received, and half the company immediately peeled away to splash about in the icy shallows, straining their eyes in the twilight.

Shortly after cries of delight split the calm night and Nori returned with his hands full of mussels. "There's plenty down there," he told them. "Set these to steaming open and we'll have full bellies tonight."

"Can you even cook mussels in a campfire?" Óin asked as Bombur moved in to take control of the meagre preparations.

"You can cook anything in a pinch," he said calmly. "There's some nice flat stones, that have been well heated by the flame, they'll sizzle away nicely on those. Fíli, clean one of the greener sticks for me."

"Yes Uncle."

Fíli pulled his small knife from his boot and started to search through the pile potential firewood they had collected throughout the day, but he was pulled from his task by Thorin, who frowned at him.

"You have a weapon? How came you by this?" the taller dwarf demanded.

"You don't have to loom quite so much, uncle," Fíli pointed out in exasperation, pointedly turning back to the woodpile. He had just found a likely candidate when Thorin tugged him and now Mahal only knew where it was in the pile. "I have three knives as it happens, do you need one? I'm not sure what happened to the rest, I suppose the elves took them."

"And missed three?" Thorin scoffed.

Fíli shrugged, and returned to the fire to strip the bark from his chosen stick. "I was unconscious, and they're not big knives. I guess they didn't look that closely."

Bombur rolled his eyes. "They probably found the other seven and thought that that was all," he teased. "You bristle like a hedgehog, it's amazing we don't end up perforated when we hug you!"

Bilbo looked astonished. "You've been carrying ten weapons all this time?"

"I started with fifteen," Fíli said sourly as he worked the knife through the wood. "Then I gave uncle Bifur my spare sword, and I lost a knife in the goblin caves." He looked up to see the dwarrows around the fire looking at him with amusement.

"I hadn't realised that I was travelling with a walking armoury," Thorin said, now looking more entertained than outraged. "What do you have left?"

"Two of my throwing knives and this small boot knife," Fíli said, waving it at him for emphasis. "And the elves have all of the tools I packed now."

"But not all our money," Glóin said, piling a double handful of dripping mussels by the fire. "By Ulmo's beard that water is cold. I'm surprised to look down and see boots, it feels like ice blocks around my toes!"

"So, we have money, and three knives, and a dinner of sorts," Kíli concluded cheerfully. "That's not so bad, considering what we escaped from. I'll go down and help them forage, Master Glóin, you thaw your feet out. We can ill afford to loose toes to frostbite now!"

They reached the main causeway a few hours after dawn, and a sorry sight they must have been, shivering and limping in the chill air. The guards were less than impressed by their appearance, but with a great deal of bluster and some abuse of their lineage they managed to get an escort to see the human in charge.

A great rotund man with greasy hair and small eyes that squinted in his stained face greeted them from the top of a set of creaking steps. Fíli thought that it was entirely unnecessary, the man was already a great deal taller than even Thorin, the tallest of the company, and peering up at him was causing Fíli's neck to ache.

Balin took over the negotiations after Thorin had finished making a rousing speech about taking back Erebor and sharing the wealth of the mountain, a strange cold light in his eyes. His madness was infectious, and the crowd were firmly on their side as they muttered about silver fountains. Balin was by far the more diplomatic, and he had the human nodding in agreement and gesturing with his great swollen hands to the guards, who led them with no small amount of pomp and ceremony to a house at the edge of the square.

"Tonight you shall feast at the Master's table," the guard in charge told the. "For now, please rest and refresh yourselves."

They had barely finished assigning rooms when a knock at the door sent them all back down again. Balin opened it, to reveal a collection of humans, all of them either young or female, carrying woven baskets.

"Gifts for the Dwarf Lords," the apparent ringleader said. "Food and clothes, although we fear that the fit will not be quite right."

"If there's needle and thread in one of those baskets I can make that right," Dori promised.

"I don't suppose there are any weapons in this collection?" Dwalin asked hopefully.

The woman blanched and shook her head. "All weapons are stored in the armoury by rule of the master," she explained as she handed over a basket of bread rolls.

"Ah, I guess we'll have to speak to him then," Balin said, elbowing his brother aside. "Thank you for these gifts, your kindness will not be forgotten!"

As soon as the door closed behind the last patched skirt, the dwarves wasted no time rummaging through the baskets. They quickly found the ones that contained food and carried them into the oversized dining room to assemble luncheon. Bombur sent Fíli and Kíli to the kitchen for plates and knives, and Bofur and Bifur for mugs to pour the beer into, and then they all fell on the food like starving wargs, all sense of proprietary and manners thrown down the mineshaft.

The people of Lake Town had given generously, the baskets had been filled with bread and cheese and preserves and the hungry company made short work of the food, with Bilbo and Bombur putting away the most. Dori was chewing absently on a roll spread with soft cheese while he looked through the baskets of clothes, setting trousers into one pile and shirts into another.

"I think we'll be able to roll these leggings up well enough and tuck them into our boots, but I'll be hemming the sleeves shorter on all of these," the silver haired dwarf decided, piling the shirts on a spare chair. He stuffed the last of his roll into his mouth and accepted another from Nori with a nod of thanks. "Everyone pick one they like and try it on quick and I'll cut the sleeves to length."

Fíli didn't much care what he wore, so he stayed where he was and reached over to snag the jar of pickled onions. From the size of the pile there were more than enough shirts to go around, and he had seen a big wash copper in the kitchen that they could use to clean their travel stained clothing. He wondered if pounding with a dolly stick was in his future. Perhaps, if he was lucky, Dori might take over that task as well.

"Here, time to wear the family colours," Thorin said, dropping a pile of blue fabric in his lap. "Not the right shade, but close enough. You'll dress as befits a member of the line."

Fíli washed his second onion down with a mouthful of the weak ale and did his best to look pleased. "Thank you Uncle."

He had never imagined that he would wear Durin blue. Most of his clothing was green or brown, or sometimes red to contrast with his bright hair. The shirt was made from wool, slightly scratchy against his fingers as he unfolded it to check the size. His shoulders would just about fit, he reckoned, although there wouldn't be a great deal of room. The sleeves were ridiculous, and the length more reminiscent of a tunic than a shirt. Perhaps it would look good worn as a tunic with a belt over the top?

His leather trousers had held up well against the abuse that they had suffered and he was sure that he could clean them enough to be presentable by the time they went to dinner. Uncle Bifur had not been so lucky, his were ripped across both knees, and Uncle Bofur had a split from ankle to thigh down his left leg. He wasn't surprised to see them both sorting through the clothing piles in search of something more suitable.

His stomach full and aching, Fíli reluctantly left the table and joined the line leading to Dori with his new shirt. Kíli was already there, a similar blue shirt pulled over his threadbare linen one as Dori snipped carefully at the cuffs with his newly acquired scissors.

"Right, pull that off and leave it on the pile," he ordered, gesturing to where Óin was perched on a chair, the tip of his tongue poking from the side of his mouth as he threaded a needle.

Kíli did as instructed, leaving his hair standing on end, and made his way to Fíli's side. "I'll see about heating us up some wash water while Dori sorts your shirt?" he suggested, his dark eyes playful.

"All right," Fíli agreed, his mind filling with memories of the last time they had bathed together, in the oversized tub at Beorn's house. "See if you can find some nice soap, I'm tired of smelling like an Elf."

"I'm afraid that right now you smell like a river, oh nadadel," Kíli teased, whirling away to the kitchen in search of wash water.

Once Fíli had escaped from Dori's wardrobe tyranny, he took the wide stairs two at a time to the room that he was to share with Kíli. The house creaked and groaned around him, smelling of cold lake water and neglect, but it was a roof and four walls and it was growing more comfortable as the heat from the chimney warmed the air.

They had taken the second smallest room, the smallest having been claimed by the Hobbit whose nose had turned an alarming shade of red as he sniffed miserably. Fíli didn't envy the brothers 'Ri, who were to share the room next door. He suspected that they would be kept awake by the coughing and groaning of their neighbour.

Their room had a single, man-sized bed in it which would be large enough for the both of them, a small table with a cracked mirror of dubious manufacture and a wooden chest that contained spare blankets for the bed. Kíli was stripped to the waist as he hovered over a bucket of steaming water, wielding a bar of soap and a rag with grim determination.

"You're going to take off half your skin along with the dirt," Fíli chided, swiping the rag from his hand. "Let me do that."

"I can't remember the last time I was so tired," Kíli groaned as he passed the soap over. "All I want to do is fall into that bed for a nap, but I wanted to get clean first."

"I thought you had other activities in mind when you came up here?" Fíli teased as he gently washed the grit and mud from Kíli's skin. 

"That was before the food hit," Kíli explained, stifling a yawn.

Once Kíli was as clean as they were going to manage with a single bucket of water, Fíli sent him to lie down on the scratchy blankets while he stripped and washed himself. He also wiped down his leathers, making a mental note to see if there was some sort of oil in the kitchen that he could use on them once they'd dried.

"Get in here," Kíli grumbled sleepily, evidentially tired of watching him. "It's cold, and I need you to warm me up."

Fíli grinned but did as he was bid, sliding under the blankets to the warm patch Kíli had created. The younger dwarf immediately wormed his way into his arms and rested his head on his shoulder, his wild hair ticking as it fell over his chest and neck.

"This is nice," Fíli sighed as their shared warmth enfolded him, relaxing muscles he hadn't realised were tense. He trailed his hand lazily along Kíli's spine, enjoying the smooth skin under his fingertips. "I was worried that we'd be stuck in those dungeons until we were both old and stiff."

"Thank Mahal for Bilbo and his unexpected magic ring," Kíli sighed, tipping his head to press a kiss to Fíli's collarbone. "Shhh. Sleep now."

They were rudely jolted from their nap a few hours later by a bang on the door. "Baknd ghelekh, nidoyîth, zûr zu?" Bifur called cheerfully.

Kíli groaned. "Sleeping!" he called back. "Is it time for the feast?"

"Shândabi!" Bifur confirmed, and his thudding footsteps continued down the corridor.

"Guess we'd best see what Dori has done to those shirts." Kíli untangled himself reluctantly, and Fíli bit back a grimace as blood suddenly rushed back into his arm, making it tingle uncomfortably.

The shirts were in a pile outside their door, the sleeves edged neatly in cream thread. Someone, probably Bombur, had pointedly placed a wooden comb on top of the pile.

"I guess someone feels that our hair is a state," Fíli said, waving it for emphasis. "I'll do yours if you'll do mine?"

Ten minutes later, Fíli and Kíli clattered down the stairs of their borrowed house, Kíli with his blue shirt tucked as best as he could manage into his trousers and Fíli wearing his as a tunic with a belt on the outside. Their faces were clean and their hair freshly combed and braided, a fact that they were even more pleased by when they found two uncomfortable guards standing in the hallway, waiting to escort the company to dinner. 

With poor Bilbo sniffing in the middle of the group, they trooped across the square to the Master's house, where they were shown into a dimly lit dining hall and fed a lavish meal that contained a lot of fish.

Thorin made a speech that was short and to the point, and then the Master made a speech that rambled on until Fíli entertained visions of tossing him out of the window into the frigid lake. He was fast becoming Fíli's least favourite human to date

"When do you think we'll leave?" Fíli asked Kíli in a whisper. The new blue shirt itched something awful, and he had been seated near the top of the table and introduced as Price Fíli. His uncles were banished to the other end of the hall where he had no hope of speaking with them, and he was supremely uncomfortable.

"The table or the town?"

"Either," Fíli sighed. "I don't like it here."

"The table probably in a few more hours, they haven't served dessert yet," Kíli said, his eyes flicking around the room. "The town, probably in a few days. Sorry, I know it's awful but I really do have to carry on talking to this human."

With that he turned back to his conversation with the guild master sitting next to him. That was the worst thing of all about the dinner - several important humans had been invited and were scattered amongst the dwarves at the head of the table. Thorin, Balin and Kíli were busy engaging them in polite conversation and seemed to all know exactly what they needed to say, whereas Fíli was keeping his mouth firmly shut for fear of causing a diplomatic incident.

For the first time he felt the absence of the lessons in statecraft that Kíli had endured alone.

Wearing Durin blue, introduced as a prince of the line, Fíli had never felt so uneasy in his own skin before. He sighed and took another swig of the sour ale, forcing a pleasant expression onto his face as Balin gave him a sharp look from across the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Abbadizu, tashf! - you are here, move!  
> Nadad - brother  
> Birashagimi – I'm sorry  
> Nadadel – Brother of all Brothers  
> Baknd ghelekh, nidoyîth, zûr zu? - good morning, young boys, how are you?  
> Shândabi - Agreed


	14. An Uncomfortable Discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given the Master a bit more of a tragic back story in this chapter. In the books he's not quite as terrible a leader as he is in the films, although he does end up stealing a load of dragon-cursed treasure and running out into the wilderness to die! Lake Town is not destroyed in the book, and the people split into two, one lot staying on the lake and the other following Bard to rebuild Dale. Anyhow, he sort of got away from me in this chapter, but I hope it makes him a bit more 3D in general.
> 
> There's a larger amount of khuzdul than usual, translations at the end as always.
> 
> But first, it's time for a lemon!

Once the fog of exhaustion had lifted, Fíli found that it had become rather more difficult to be discreet. They had privacy of a sort, and yet the walls were thin and the door had no lock. Flimsy wood was all that stood between them and discovery, and the Hobbit was in no shape to cover for them, had he even been willing. They didn’t bother asking, Bilbo was a small ball of blanket clad misery as he sniffed into the hot drinks that Bombur made him.  
  
“You once promised to let me watch,” he whispered into Kíli’s ear after lunch on their second day in Lake Town. “Do you remember?”   
  
“I remember,” Kíli nodded, his dark eyes blown wide with arousal. “Now?”  
  
Fíli looked around at the company, most occupied playing games of chance or mending their ragged clothing. “I don’t think we’ll be missed.”  
  
He led the way upstairs, anticipation churning in his gut, and opened the door to their room to let Kíli enter first. The dark haired dwarf was chewing on his lip, and once he had pushed the blanket chest against the wood to give them a token privacy barrier should any come looking for them, he reached for his younger brother with both hands, using his calloused thumb to smooth the worried skin.  
  
“We don’t have to,” he clarified at once. “Not if the idea makes you uncomfortable.”  
  
“It makes me hard,” Kíli blurted out, a blush staining his cheeks wine red. “Which is uncomfortable in its own way, but not what you meant. I’ll be all right, it’s just new. And new is not the same as bad.”  
  
“Would you like me to help you get started?” Fíli offered, enjoying the way that Kíli’s breath hitched in want at the offer as he nodded.  
  
He took his time, undressing his brother like a gift to be savoured as he dropped kisses on each inch of uncovered skin. Kíli was flushed and squirming in place by the time he pushed him up onto the overly high mattress to finish pulling his boots and trousers from his legs, his plump cock rapidly firming against his thigh.  
  
“Touch yourself,” Fíli prompted, crouching between Kíli’s knees. “I want to see.”  
  
Kíli was a study of light and dark in the pale sunlight that filtered through the dusty windows, throwing the strong muscles of his core into high relief. He smoothed a hand down his own chest, pinching one soft nipple into a peak as he passed and biting his already abused lip until it glowed cherry red. Long fingers wrapped around his erection and tugged, the pink head of his cock disappearing into the bunched foreskin. Fíli wanted to stick his tongue into the folds of skin and taste.  
  
“Do it,” Kíli dared him, his dark eyes fixed on Fíli’s face. “I can see that you want to.”  
  
Fíli nodded and leant forward, opening his mouth for his younger brother’s cock. Kíli guided it carefully between his teeth and the taste of his excitement hit his tongue, salty and sour.  
  
“Your mouth is always so hot,” Kíli groaned, pumping slowly. Fíli closed his lips around the head and sucked lightly, Kíli’s knuckles lightly brushing against his moustache as he worked the stiff flesh. “Why is it always so long, that we have to wait to do this?” he babbled.  
  
Fíli hummed in agreement and Kíli groaned. “I wanted to make this last longer,” he complained, his hand flying faster.  
  
Fíli pulled back with a grin. “Ah, but I want to see what comes after,” he reminded his brother. “I want to see you tease yourself through the aftershocks, tense and shaking. I want to watch your face, flushed with want and need, and then I want to press my tongue and my fingers against you and push my way inside until you spill again.”  
  
“Mahumb,” Kíli cursed, his thighs twitching. “The things you say!”  
  
“I think I’ll use your own spend to ease the way,” Fíli continued, feeling wicked as the Kíli’s flush deepened and spread down his neck. “Would you like that?”  
  
“Filthy… can’t… Fíli!” Kíli gasped, his whole body tensing as his stones drew up and his seed splattered over his stomach and fist. Fíli reached out to trail his fingers through the mess, his own hard cock twitching against his thigh.  
  
“Touch yourself,” he reminded the younger dwarf, prompting a long shudder.  
  
Kíli did as he was bade, rubbing shaking fingers over his glistening cock as it faded from red to pink. He writhed enticingly on the woollen blankets and Fíli pushed himself up to see better as Kíli dug his heels into the sheets, watching in fascination. Kíli kept his dark eyes fixed on his face, pupils blown wide with lust, and Fíli wondered what it was he saw there.  
  
Fíli wanted to touch him, to be the cause of the small whimpers that fell from his lips as he stroked, lightly and first and then with a firmer grip, prolonging what must surely be blissful agony with a far harder touch than Fíli would have dared.  
  
‘T-touch me,” Kíli demanded. “Fee, I want you to touch me.” He lifted trembling legs to expose the lightly furred flesh of his backside and the soft pink skin between.  
  
Spitting on his sticky hand for extra lubrication, Fíli climbed onto the bed himself, steading one leg with his clean hand as he pressed forward, pushing his own aching member into the soft skin of Kíli’s thigh for a second of relief before he brought his fingers to his entrance. The furled muscle yielded easily to his touch and Kíli nearly slapped himself in the face as he brought up his free hand to stifle his groan.  
  
“You look beautiful,” Fíli told him honestly, his eyes roving over bare skin glistening with perspiration as his fingers worked gently. “Do you want to come like this, the second time?”  
  
“I want you in me,” Kíli mumbled from behind his hand.  
  
“There’s no oil,” Fíli objected. “I won’t hurt you.”  
  
“I got some, for oiling the leather,” Kíli panted. “Please? I want you.”  
  
“We’re going to be a mess after this,” Fíli predicted, climbing off the bed. The oil was easy enough to spot now that he knew that it was oil and not a flask of wine Kíli had squirrelled away for later.  
  
Kíli had obediently been stroking his renewed erection the whole time, and the first thing Fíli did with the oil was pour it over his hand without warning. Kíli gasped in surprised bliss at the chill bite of the lubricant and spread his legs wide. “I want you in me,” he said again. “Please, Fee, I want to feel you spill inside me as I come.”  
  
“And you say I’m the filthy one,” Fíli said as he oiled his cock. “Do you need me to stretch you further?”  
  
Kíli shook his head. “No, just go slow.”  
  
Fíli’s eyes fluttered closed of their own accord as he sank into Kíli’s silky heat. He had to shift a few times to find the right angle, the one that made Kíli bite his lip and groan, and then nothing else mattered except moving, the world shrinking down to encompass the two of them as they strained towards release.  
  
“How... How does it keep on getting better?” Kíli asked, reaching out with the hand that wasn’t stroking his cock. Fíli caught his slender fingers with his own blunt digits and pressed their palms together.  
  
“Imagine what it’ll feel like a century from now,” Fíli gasped. “We’ll have our own place, everyone will think we’re craft-wed brothers and there’ll be nice solid stone between us and any ears that might listen.”  
  
Kíli was too breathless to answer as they raced towards the precipice together, slender fingers flying over his straining erection. He was whining a little under his breath, unable to suppress the shudders of overstimulation when his fingers rubbed over the swollen head.

Feeling wicked, Fíli rubbed his oil smeared palm over Kíli's groin, revelling in his muffled shout as slick muscles contracted around his cock and surprised over the heat emanating from Kíli's overworked member.

"P-please?" Kíli begged, twisting his hips in a fruitless attempt to chase Fíli's hand. "Feels so good- better when you, with your hand-"

Fíli took a moment to still and tip a little more oil into his palm, worried about the friction of his calloused palms against Kíli's soft skin, and then pressed his hand firmly against his brother's cock, trapping it against his lightly furred abdomen as he started to thrust again, regaining his lost rhythm.

Kíli whined with tortured delight and started to undulate, rubbing up against Fíli's fingers before grinding back. Fíli was so hard he was astonished that he hadn't already spilled into Kíli's tight channel, but the sight in front of him was too enchanting to end prematurely.

Kíli was a mess, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, oily fingerprints that shone in the weak afternoon sunlight streaming through the window marked his heaving chest. His hard cock was an angry red as it peeked between Fíli’s tanned fingers at the apex of each thrust.

"Harder, please, please..." Kíli whined, screwing his eyes closed as he chewed on his bottom lip. Fíli felt the flutter of his pulse through the thin skin under his fingers and pressed down firmly, curling his fingers slightly as they slid through the oil. "I- I can't-" Kíli gasped.

"You can," Fíli promised him, feeling a tremor starting in his thighs as he pushed forward relentlessly, over and over. "Come for me nadadith, ghivashelê."

Kíli's teeth were a white flash as his face reddened further, bitten lips parting in a soundless cry as his cock pulsed under Fíli’s hand, spraying long lines of white spend over his heaving chest for the second time that afternoon.

Fíli bit back a groan at the feel and let go of the iron grip he had held on himself, feeling his member jerk against Kíli's tight entrance as he spilled.  
  
Later, lying sticky with oil and sated with his head on Fíli’s shoulder under the scratchy wool blanket Kíli sighed sadly. “I like the future you weave for us, nadad. I wish it could really be like that.”  
  
“Why can’t it?” Fíli asked, striking his cleaner hand over Kíli’s dark hair.  
  
“Because one day I’ll be King Under the Mountain,” Kíli pointed out, spitting the title with disgust. “It’s not what I want, but it’s what will happen.”  
  
“No one gets to decide your fate but you,” Fíli said. “And all right, maybe the private place we’ll have will be the royal chambers. It’ll still be ours.”  
  
Kíli was quiet a moment, staring into the middle distance as his breath warmed Fíli’s chest. “Ma said, she told me that royals in Erebor don’t get a lot of privacy.”  
  
Fíli pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “I will fight for you, for us, until you tell me you don’t want me anymore, kurkarith,” he vowed. “And even then I’ll only listen to you if you really mean it.”  
  
  
  
Thorin, always one of the most intense dwarves you would ever meet, seemed to be cranking up the intensity as the start of the last leg of their journey drew nearer. His blue eyes burnt holes straight through you as he flew about the town, tailed by Balin and Dwalin while he talked to various important figures amongst the men. As far as Fíli could see, the only thing that those men had in common was a grasping love of riches and a slimy manner as they pandered to the prince in their midst.  
  
They had managed to secure two boats to carry them up to the mouth of the River Running, and the Master had opened the town's armoury, such as it was, to the dwarves. Many of the weapons stored within were of dwarvish make, forged in Erebor before the dragon came, and the oldest in the company looked upon the meagre hoard with tears in their eyes. Several of them had been inexpertly mended, and the sight made Fíli's fingers itch for hammer and file. The last thing to worry about was provisions for the trip, and the families of Lake Town donated generously to the cause.  
  
Fíli was busy packing, knowing that the farewell feast at sundown would drag on late into the night, when Thorin appeared in the narrow doorway.  
  
“You will sit beside me at dinner tonight,” he said, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.  
  
Fíli had planned on sitting between Bofur and Kíli and tried to hide his disappointment as he nodded. “All right Uncle.”  
  
“Wear the blue shirt,” Thorin instructed. “I told the Master that you were my nephew, and he wishes to speak with you. You must uphold the dignity of the line.”  
  
“I represent the line of Narvi well enough in my own clothes,” Fíli pointed out, a little annoyed by Thorin’s tendency to overlook something that he considered quite important. “I am the heir to that line after all.” He stuffed the shirt he was holding into his pack and picked up the blue one he had washed the night before. Hopefully after the scrubbing he had given it, it would be less scratchy.  
  
“These men know nothing of Narvi and their works,” Thorin said, scowling. “It is the line of Durin that catches their attention.”  
  
“Then we should educate them,” Fíli said, trying to keep his voice level as he folded.  
  
“Fíli, I know that you are no longer my heir but you are still-“  
  
“Only in your head,” Fíli dared to interrupt him. “The council didn’t agree with you, and my family don’t agree with you, and I was perfectly happy with my life before you called the meeting. I was happy, Thorin.”  
  
Thorin reached out and grabbed his shoulders. “Then why did you come?” He hissed. The blue shirt dropped in a crumpled heap to the floor.  
  
“I told you,” Fíli said, regretting his hasty decision to poke at this particular pile of rubble. “I came for Kíli.” Thorin's large hands were tight on his shoulders and he wondered if he would be shaken like a recaltrunt dwarfling next.  
  
“Am I not also your kin?” Thorin demanded, a flash of hurt in his eyes. He seemed to realise that his grip was tight to the point of bruising and the pressure suddenly lessened.   
  
Fíli took at step back and Thorin’s hands fell to his sides as they stared at each other, one pale with emotion and the other trying to figure out which words would best salvage this mess of a conversation.  
  
“What’s my favourite meal?” Fíli asked after a long moment.  
  
“I don’t…” Thorin frowned at him. “How is this relevant?”  
  
Fíli nodded. “You don’t know,” he surmised. “What did I make for my journeyman piece?”  
  
“Ah… a dagger? Kíli mentioned a dagger,” Thorin said, shifting from foot to foot.  
  
“An axe,” Fíli corrected him. “What’s my favourite tavern called?” Thorin shook his head, looking suddenly older. “We may be joined by blood, but you don’t know me,” Fíli said as gently as he could. “You haven’t taken the time to learn. And I don’t know all that much about you in turn, so it goes both ways. I do not make this plain to hurt you, Thorin. I just need you to see that I am no longer the child of twelve you knew everything about. I am not an older and wiser version of Kíli.”  
  
Thorin shook his head. “You are your own dwarf, I can see that,” he admitted. “Much as it pains me. It wasn’t supposed to be this way!”  
  
“You cannot change the past, and it is foolish to dwell over long on it.” Fíli picked up the shirt he had dropped and folded it again. “I will sit by your side if you wish, although I had planned to sit with my uncles and Kíli. It is a small thing to give up, if it will help with the quest. I know we ask much of these humans.”  
  
“We will pay them back once the mountain is ours,” Thorin said dismissively. “Balin has kept a running tally.”  
  
“You can’t eat gold and they are giving up their winter stores, their security,” Fíli pointed out.  
  
Thorin snorted. “What do these fat fools know of hunger?” He scoffed.  
  
“You are so blind sometimes,” Fíli shook his head. “It is not the fat ones who are giving us the food.”  
  
A cold mask settled over Thorin’s face. “You will sit beside me at dinner,” he reiterated. “Wear the shirt.” Before Fíli had time to reply, the door swung closed behind him.  
  
Fíli’s fingers bit into the fabric of the blue shirt he still held, driving creases into the folds. The conversation had not been pleasant, and worse he didn’t feel that anything he had said had found its intended mark. He flung the offending garment onto the mattress and made a beeline for his uncle's rooms at the other end of the corridor.  
  
Bofur was out, but Bombur and Bifur were also packing. At the sight of their kind, familiar faces the tightness that had been building in Fíli's chest and throat suddenly eased and he stood helpless and on the verge of tears.  
  
Bifur noticed him first. "Kidhuzurâl, zûr zu?" he asked.  
  
"Not... Not great," Fíli admitted. Their reaction was instant, love and worry shining from their miss-matched faces as they enveloped him in their arms. Fíli pressed his face to Bifur's shoulder as Bombur stroked his hair with one warm hand.  
  
"What brought this on?" Bombur rumbled when Fíli's breathing had evened out.   
  
"I had an argument with Thorin," Fíli admitted, pulling back and rubbing at the side of his aching neck. Bifur's eyes darkened and he reached out and flipped Fíli's collar to one side, exposing the reddening skin.  
  
"Dijnu hyadâkh ghivasha, urùthûkhikizu hyêmrûr!" he growled, and Bombur quickly hooked his arm before he could storm off after Thorin.   
  
"Much as I understand, scalping the king probably isn't the solution here," he said, his own anger rumbling like an avalanche behind his words. "He has betrayed our trust yes, but the rest of the company still follow him and we must be united in this town of strangers."  
  
"I'm all right," Fíli insisted, pressing one of Bifur's large hands between his own. "Please uncle, he didn't meant to. He stopped as soon as he realised that he was hurting me."  
  
"He should never have started," Bombur said firmly. "Bifur, go find my brother. Family meeting."  
  
Bifur grunted in frustration but obediently stomped from the room. Bombur swept Fíli up in another hug. "Oh kidhuzurâl," he sighed. "Perhaps we should have stayed at home."  
  
"I didn't intend to have an argument with him," Fíli said plaintively. "But he kept on going on about the line of Durin, and dismissing Narvi and I just wanted to... I don't know it seems silly now. I think I hurt him."  
  
"With words," Bombur pointed out. "He hurt you with his hands, that is far less acceptable, akhûnîth."  
  
"What's going on? Why is Bifur so mad? Ghivashith - you're hurt?" Bofur's questions tumbled over each other as he dashed through the door with Bifur on his heels and Fíli hurriedly straightened his shirt to hide the tell-tale marks.  
  
"He had an argument with Thorin, and now that we are all here he is going to tell us about it," Bombur said sternly. "And then we will decide - as a family - what we are going to do."  
  
They set Fíli onto the bed and sandwiched him between Bofur and Bombur as Bifur paced around the room. The story flowed out of Fíli without pause once he started talking, and although Bifur continued to glower, his other two uncles just looked sad by the time he had finished.  
  
"Oh, what a mess," Bofur sighed. "That dwarrow has no patience at all."  
  
"And strange ideas about family," Bombur added. He pulled a comb from his pocket and began to work it through Fíli's hair, unravelling his braids and passing the beads to Bifur for safekeeping.  
  
"You did the right thing, ghivashith," Bofur assured Fíli. "It was good to take a stand. Thorin has been a little strange since we arrived, and it's important to have clear boundaries. If you want to sit with us at this dratted dinner, then do so."  
  
"No, no I'll sit with Thorin," Fíli said hastily. "I said I would, and the Master of the town wants to speak with me apparently. It's not fair to make Kíli do it all the time."  
  
"Kíli is trained in this sort of thing," Bombur pointed out. "He has a better chance of avoiding causing a diplomatic incident."  
  
"I'm not that bad!" Fíli protested as Bifur laughed and took over from Bombur to weave his hair into his usual style.   
  
"Ma shândabi," he teased as he threaded his fingers into Fíli's golden curls and Fíli poked him in retaliation.  
  
"Khal," Bombur said sternly, although his eyes twinkled and gave away his amusement. "Kidhuzurâl, have you packed?"  
  
"Nearly," Fíli said, pulling a face as Bifur tugged at the side of his head. "I was just finishing up when Thorin came in."  
  
"I am going to have words with that dwarf," Bofur said darkly. "How dare he lay his hands on you in anger?"  
  
"That dwarf, as you so eloquently put it, is to be king," Bombur pointed out calmly. "Might be best to see how this stew simmers for a while before you stick your ridiculous hat into it."  
  
Fíli lent against Bombur's comforting bulk as they argued about it and Bifur patiently braided his hair. Earlier, standing in front of Thorin's dark eyes, he had felt cold and alone in the face of his stubborn will, but now warmth and strength had returned to his limbs. He wondered idly if Thorin had ever provided a safe haven for Kíli, and hoped that it had been the case.  
  
Bifur ended up going to the room he shared with Kíli to fetch his pack as Bofur and Bombur were still debating the merits of leaving the company altogether and making for the Iron Hills instead. He returned with a confused Kíli in tow, his hair wet and dripping from a hasty bath.  
  
"What is going on?" Kíli asked as Bifur pushed him down onto a low stool and began to attack the tangle on his head with muttered curses. "What was that about the Iron Hills?"  
  
"They're being dramatic," Fíli sighed.  
  
"I am not!" Bofur insisted. "Look, kurkarith, look what Thorin did to Fíli!" He reached out and tugged at Fíli's shirt, exposing the reddened skin.  
  
"It was an accident," Fíli insisted, struggling out of Bombur's loose embrace and straightening his clothes. "We had a bit of an argument."  
  
Kíli looked troubled as Bifur gently combed out the tangles in his hair. "He grabbed your shoulders?" he asked, chewing at his lip.  
  
"We had a bit of a disagreement about the line of Durin," Fíli explained, crouching in front of his brother. "It's nothing to worry about." He held still as Kíli reached out with gentle hands to check the damage for himself.  
  
"That'll bruise," the dark eyed dwarf predicted. "You should see Oin, he might have a paste to smooth on. I... I'm sorry."  
  
Fíli frowned. "Whatever for?" he asked, placing his hands on Kíli's knees.  
  
"You wouldn't have come if it wasn't for me," Kíli whispered, unwilling to meet Fíli's eyes.  
  
"Oh, that's nonsense," Fíli said sternly. "I made my own choices, I chose to come and I chose to speak my mind to Thorin rather than agreeing with his mad schemes. This is certainly not your fault!" he twisted to look at Bofur. "And we won't be abandoning the quest to go to the Iron Hills. We all signed the contract. I'll not be labelled an oathbreaker before I've even seen a centaury."  
  
Bofur wasn't pleased but he nodded grudgingly. "I'll go see if Óin has any salve," he grumbled.  
  
"Best hurry," Bombur said, peering out the window. "We're loosing the light."  
  
"Adrân safkitabi 'aimukhurb," Bifur agreed as he finished setting Kíli's mithril clip into his dark hair.  
  
  
  
  
Fíli found himself surrounded by his relatives as they made their way to the Master's hall for the last time, with Kíli glued to his side. Óin had indeed had a salve, which his brother had applied with gentle swipes of his fingers, and now his skin felt cold and greasy and his shirt stuck awkwardly. It was soothing the ache away, and he knew better than to complain.  
  
"Welcome!" the Master boomed from the doorway, balanced awkwardly on his great long legs. His belly was so round Fíli half expected him to topple forward down the stairs.  
  
His hall had been subjected to a cursory cleaning in honour of the occasion, and smelt less of rancid oil and more of vinegar as a result. It was a marginal improvement, but did absolutely nothing to whet Fíli's appetite.   
  
Thorin gave him a sharp look from the front of the group and Fíli resigned himself to the inevitable. "You stay with our uncles," he whispered to Kíli. "See if you can stop them from doing anything stupid once the ale starts to flow, and I'll try not to cause a diplomatic incident."  
  
"I feel that our skill sets would be best served if we swapped jobs," Kíli grumbled, a worried frown creasing his forehead. Fíli nudged him and he rolled his eyes. "All right, keep your stones in their pouch. I promise to do my best to keep them contained."  
  
"That's all I ask. Wish me luck!"  
  
"All the luck in the world," Kíli said, and Fíli felt his eyes follow him as he walked away to where the Master loomed over the head of the table.   
  
"Ah, so this is the young princeling!" the human chortled with glee. "Frilly, wasn't it?"  
  
"Fíli, at your service," Fíli said politely, taking the empty seat. Thorin gave him an approving not and the Master slopped liquor from a decanter into his glass.  
  
"And what do you think of my Lake Town, eh?" the man asked, shoving the overfull glass into his face. Fíli took it before it ended up in his lap and did his best to look happy.  
  
"Oh, it's a fine town," he said. "The people I have met have been most welcoming."  
  
"Very good, very good. Ah, here is the first course! You must try the yellow sauce."  
  
The man was distracted as servers brought platters of shellfish to the table and set them down. Crystal dishes ringed each mound of shells, some with a yellow sauce and some with white. Fíli drizzled the pale yellow sauce over his selection as prompted and took a cautious mouthful. Mustard and thyme filled his mouth, strong but not unpleasant and he was able to smile at the Master's enquiring expression honestly.  
  
"Delicious, isn't it?" the master prompted, his own cheeks bulging above his thin moustache.  
  
"Yes, a lovely sauce," Fíli confirmed. "Thank you for the recommendation."  
  
"Oh don't worry my boy, stick with me and I will not steer you wrong!" the master proclaimed, washing down his mouthful with a gulp of liquor.  
  
He spent the rest of the meal telling Fíli what to try from each course presented and talking about the hardship of leadership. Fíli tried what he was told to try, pretended to like all of it, and did his best to appear sympathetic to the man's complaints as he struggled to select the right cutlery from the selection lined up beside his plate.  
  
"You're doing well, laddie," Balin leant across to say when the Master excused himself to use the privy. "Only another four courses to go."  
  
The white haired dwarf caught a whiff of the healing salve and his face crumpled into a frown of concern. "Are you injured?"  
  
"It's nothing," Fíli said, glancing around to see if anyone else was paying attention.  
  
"I know the scent of Óin’s bruise salve-" Balin began to object, but the Master's return cut him off.  
  
"Bruise paste?" Thorin asked from his other side. He looked worried, and then as his eyes slid from Fíli's face to his neck he looked guilty. "Did I-"  
  
"It's nothing," Fíli repeated in an angry hiss. He turned to the Master with his best engaging smile. "What do you recommend from these dishes, sir?" he asked, gesturing to the expanse of pastries that had been set before them.  
  
"Oh you must sample the cranberry and turkey," the man said eagerly, serving Fíli before himself in an apparently unprecedented move, given the flabbergasted expressions of the other men at the table. "Tell me what you think." He turned to look at Thorin over Fíli's head with a beaming smile. "Master Oakenshield, your nephew is simply delightful company I must say, you must be very proud."  
  
"Yes, Fíli is a good lad," Thorin said at once, making an abortive gesture as if he had stopped himself at the last minute from patting Fíli on the shoulder.  
  
"And such beautiful golden hair!" the Master continued, and Fíli was relieved that he made no move to touch it. He could see Kíli casting worried glances at him from the other end of the table and tried to send him a reassuring smile, although he feared that it was more of a grimace. Bofur still looked disgruntled, but he had calmed down from his earlier rage, and Bombur was digging into the food with gusto, no doubt waxing lyrical on the different dishes to Bifur, who had a bit of a glazed look on his worn face.  
  
"Lucky hair, as we say," Thorin was saying. "My brother had the same."  
  
"Ah yes, Frerin son of Thrain, no? He is mentioned on a tapestry that used to hang in the meeting hall. I myself once had a wife with lucky hair," the Master said, sounding uncommonly serious.   
  
"I'm sorry for your loss," Fíli said quietly, reaching out to the sticky decanter and topping off the human's glass.  
  
"I wonder if my son would have had lucky hair as well." The master huffed a great sour sigh and drained his cup. Fíli was still holding the decanter, so he filled it again and the man smiled at him in approval.   
  
"I would listen to your tale, if it would please you to tell it," Fíli promised, cutting a bite from the cranberry and turkey pastry. "Or if you prefer, we can speak of other matters, sir."  
  
To his horror, great tears welled in the man's pale eyes. "Such a good boy!" he hiccupped. "Asking about my poor Vera! It was a terrible winter, you see, and the lake was frozen stiff, the fishing holes had to be recut day after day. She went into labour in the middle of the storm, and the little lad closed his eyes forever three days later. My Vera only lingered a short time after that. Golden hair she had, pale gold in the candlelight, and so now all golden things remind me of them. My treasures." Fíli reached out hesitantly and patted the man's arm as he sniffed into a stained linen handkerchief. He had no idea what to say, but thankfully before the silence grew too awkward the human mastered himself and stuffed an entire pastry into his mouth.  
  
The turkey and cranberry pastry was indeed quite delicious, if a little cold, and Fíli happily finished it off.  
  
"I like to see a boy clear his plate," the Master said approvingly. "The next course will be a sweet one, do you like cake?"  
  
"My uncle Bombur makes an excellent fruitcake," Fíli told him. "We import dried fruits from the Shire to make it, and soak them in brandy."  
  
"Capital idea! I should like to give my chef the recipe. Is your uncle here?"  
  
Fíli nodded down the table to where Bombur had piled every type of pastry onto his plate and was sampling them carefully. "He's the one with fire red hair and his beard braided into a loop," he said.  
  
The man peered down the table and exclaimed in satisfaction. "Ah, I see him, seems like a stout, sensible fellow."  
  
"I can introduce you after the meal if you like?" Fíli offered.  
  
It was strange, the day before if he had been asked he would have said that the Master was one of the most unpleasant human he had ever met, but now that he had heard of his tragedy, well... He was still pompous and overbearing and lived in luxury while the poorest in his town wore rags, but Fíli understood him a little better. He was lonely, and in his loneliness he grasped tight to the few things that made him happy.  
  
Fíli still didn't like him, but he would introduce him to Bombur and get him the cake recipe, and perhaps by bringing a little warmth into the man's life and improving his mood he would have also worked a small change on life in the town. He could be the pebble that began the avalanche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations
> 
> Mahumb – Droppings (feces)  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Nadadith, ghivashelê - Little brother, treasure of all treasures  
> Kurkarith - little raven  
> Kidhuzurâl, zûr zu? - Golden one, how are you?  
> Dijnu hyadâkh ghivasha, urùthûkhikizu hyêmrûr- Trust is a rare treasure, hand it out scarcely  
> Ghivashith - young treasure (Bofur's name for his nieces and nephews)  
> Akhûnîth – young man  
> Ma shândabi – I do not agree  
> Khal - Peace (this is definitely the right root word but I'm not sure if it's supposed to have a different ending when used as an instruction!)  
> Adrân safkitabi 'aimukhurb – time to pack the pony (time to leave)


	15. An Unconscious Reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished drafting the last two chapters, and in celebration I intend to step up the update schedule to twice a week on Tuesdays and Fridays, now that I'm just editing. You can expect to finish the whole story by the end of the month!

The sun rose on a grey day as the company gathered to leave Lake Town. They had been given two boats with square sails and four oars each, which the dwarves regarded with weary acceptance. Bilbo looked on them with terror, but the hobbit agreed that floating on the water was preferable to being submerged in it, and he had only just recovered from his cold.  
  
Fíli and Kíli sat in the lead boat behind Thorin, who had made it clear over breakfast that he expected them to stay close. Fíli hoped that once they were out of sight of the humans they could return to their usual habits of travelling beside whoever took their fancy at that particular moment. Kíli had complained that morning that he hadn’t had a chance to talk with Ori for days and Fíli wanted to ask Bombur how his talk with the Master had gone the day before.   
  
They arrived at the two large cairns that marked the entrance to the River Running as the sun peaked high in the sky, finally burning through the mist that shrouded the lake. The water shone bright blue for a moment and the dwarves sighed in pleasure at the sight of their ancestral home rising tall above the flatlands.  
  
“Once the slopes would have been cloaked in trees,” Balin said wistfully. “But the pines burned the day the dragon came.”  
  
“The deer will have all gone now, probably eaten by those damned spiders in Mirkwood,” Óin complained.  
  
“If we renew the forest, won’t they come back?” Kíli asked, his eyes on the desolation rather than the mountain.  
  
“Perhaps,” Balin sighed. “But none here know much about growing things, it’s hardly our speciality.”  
  
“It’s Bilbo’s,” Fíli pointed out. “Perhaps we can request assistance from the Shire once the dragon is dead and the Kingdom reclaimed.  
  
“I don’t think the burglar intends to linger,” Thorin said, making the others jump. The King had been standing like a figurehead at the front of the boat, his eyes fixed on their destination, and they had not realised that he had been listening.. “Besides,” he continued. “Only dwarves will be welcome within the mountain. It is our home, we do not need outsiders to make it great again.”  
  
That seemed more than a little short sighted to Fíli, but he didn’t want to spark off a second argument only a day after the first.   
  
They beached the boats at the remains of a landing site carved out of the bedrock. Ahead the river foamed over a series of rapids that would have battered the old craft to pieces, even if they had been able to make headway. An old defence still working, Fíli reckoned, designed to prevent boats from coming right up to the mountain.  
  
The usual grumbling that came from settling heavy packs onto hard shoulders was oddly absent as they pulled their supplies from the boats and left them behind. A strange solemnity settled over the company and even the hobbit seemed to feel it, his eyes wide and white in his pale face as he trailed behind Bifur. The toy maker turned occasionally to check on him, his fingers curving in simple iglishmêk. Bilbo replied in kind, seemingly unwilling to be the one to break the silence.  
  
And the silence was vast. Their very footsteps seemed to echo and crack from the rock and soil. There was not a breath of wind, and no birds called. The gurgling of the river water had faded almost before they left the bank and Fíli felt as if they walked through a strange dream as they crested a shallow rise topped by a crumbling tower and the ruins of Dale spread out before them. Behind the remains of the city the great gates of Erebor could be seen, carved into the rock of the mountain many spans high.  
  
Even at this distance, the damage was obvious, the clean lines of Dwarven architecture abruptly ended in a mass of greenish rock where the opening into the mountain should have been.  
  
Thorin pulled Thrain’s map from his pocket and consulted it. “The map implies that the secret door is to the left of the main entrance, behind that ridge,” he said pointing, his words falling like stones. “We have much ground to cover and little time left to search. Let us move, and move swiftly!”

"But what about Gandalf?" Bilbo dared to protest.

"We cannot afford to stand around waiting for the wizard," Thorin said dismissively as he led the way down the ridge.  
  
They spent so much time staring up at the steep slopes of Erebor that Fíli developed a pain in his neck, but it was Bilbo, ranging slightly to the right of the group, that first spotted the giant dwarf carving at the end of a pocket valley. They climbed steadily as the afternoon waned, leaving Bombur and Óin at the bottom to guard their packs.  
  
Fíli wasn’t all that happy about splitting the company, but Balin’s argument that they did not know how sound the stonework would be after all these years was a good one, and none of them wanted a repeat of what had happened in the Misty Mountains. The heavy packs might only serve to unbalance them at a critical moment. They had been provided with several coils of coarse rope by the men of lake town, and they used these to rope themselves together in case of slip or rockfall.  
  
They arrived on a small stone plateau almost directly above the spot they had left the packs, and spread out to search for the keyhole, but the cliff face was sheer and without any obvious openings.  
  
“Stand by the grey stone,” Bilbo muttered. “Where is the thrush?”  
  
“Break it down!” Thorin roared. “We are loosing the light!”  
  
“We need a thrush you stubborn dwarf!” Bilbo cried, but the older dwarves were already moving, beating against the grey stone wall with axe and mace until their weapons shattered and they slumped in panting defeat.  
  
“It’s no use,” Balin moaned. “Maybe that dratted elf translated it wrong.”  
  
As the activity stilled, disheartened dwarrows staring with mournful eyes at the unmoving stone, a flutter of wings disturbed the silence. A brown thrush flew into the clearing, a snail clasped tight in its small beak. It began to knock it against a flat stone to break the shell, and Fíli watched it carefully.  
  
“The wall!” Bilbo hissed. “Look!”  
  
The slight vibrations from the thrush did what all their hammering could not, and small flakes began to peel away from the cliff above its feathered head, revealing a dark opening.  
  
“The key, Thorin!” Balin urged.  
  
Fíli moved to stand beside Bofur as the King stepped forward, one large hand breaking the leather thong that held the key around his neck. Bofur put his arm around his shoulders and squeezed once. “Here we go,” he muttered.  
  
The key turned with a grind of stone on stone, and Fíli fancied that they all held their breath as Thorin spread his thick fingers to press lightly against the rock and push.  
  
With a groan of ancient machinery the door slid open, releasing a foul reek into the air.  
  
“Well?” Came a faint call from down below. “The sun is down, did you find it?”  
  
Glóin stumped over to the edge to reply to his brother. “Aye, we found it!” He bellowed back.  
  
“Shazara!” Bifur snapped at him.  
  
“You might wake Smaug with your bellowing,” Bofur backed him up.  
  
“The dragon has not been seen in sixty years!” Glóin protested.   
  
“That doesn’t mean he isn’t in there,” Fíli said. “I will go down and let my Uncle and Óin know the news. Do you want to bring everything up or shall we camp at the base of the cliff lest Smaug hear us?”  
  
Thorin considered this for a moment. “Let’s bring everything up,” he decided.  
  
“A sensible decision,” Dori agreed. “We’ll be able to go inside and keep dry if it rains.”  
  
Kíli stepped forward, avoiding Balin's restraining hand. "I'll go down with you, it'll be safer with two now that we're loosing the light," he said. "Balin, please arrange for ropes to be dropped down, it'll be easier to haul the packs up than walk them up."  
  
Balin gave him an odd look but nodded his acceptance. "Very well, Kíli."  
  
Kíli brushed past, heading for the start of the hidden route down, and Fíli met Bofur's worried eyes and shrugged. "I'll be back soon," he promised as he headed after his brother.  
  
He caught up with Kíli by the first bend and they fell into an easy pace in the twilight, making sure to keep one hand on the stone at all times. "Well, that smelt terrible," Fíli said conversationally once he was sure that they were out of Thorin's earshot. "I guess dragon hygiene leaves something to be desired."  
  
"I don't want to go in there," Kíli confessed. "I thought perhaps I would feel different once we actually arrived, but..." he tailed off and shuddered. They had reached a flat part where they walked along the carved shaft of a giant stone battleaxe, so Fíli felt that it was safe enough to reach out and tug Kíli to a halt by his shoulder, stepping forward to plaster himself to Kíli's back and wrap both arms around his waist.  
  
"I can't promise that it will be all right," he said into his shoulder blade. "But I can promise that you will not be alone. I will be with you wherever you go, nadad."  
  
"Fíli..." Kíli said, slumping back against him and dropping his dark head. So softly the blond almost couldn't hear him he added. "Âzyungel."  
  
Fíli felt a surge of wonder warm his core at the whispered endearment. His throat was dry and a thousand words whirled in his head but all refused to form on his tongue. Instead he pulled Kíli around on the narrow edge and pushed up to press their lips together. Kíli's narrow fingers tangled into his braids and for a single shining moment everything was perfect.  
  
Then the world intruded again as a rope slithered down the edge of the statue, making them both start.  
  
"We should carry on down," Kíli said reluctantly. He dipped his head to press one last kiss to Fíli's chapped lips, and then stepped back and took all his warmth with him. Fíli repressed a shiver lest he worry the younger dwarf, and they carried on climbing carefully through the gathering dark.  
  
Bombur was waiting for them at the foot of the statue, leaving Óin to attach packs to the rope and send them on up the cliff. "Kidhuzurâl!" he rumbled. "What is going on up there? I take it we got the door open?"  
  
"Yes, although we sacrificed two axes and a mace to do so, uncle," Fíli said, stepping forward into Bombur's open arms. Kíli was swept up in the hug as well, their sides pressed together from elbow to knee.  
  
"The important thing is that the door is open."  
  
"It smelt terrible," Kíli said, his voice muffled by Bombur's great beard. "I don't want to go inside."  
  
"And there's no reason for you to, kurkarith," Bombur assured him, taking the unexpected confidence in stride. "We are here to get the arkenstone, nothing more, and that is wee Bilbo's task. Now, let's help Master Óin get the packs together, and then we can make our way up the cliff. Does Bilbo intend to face the dragon tonight or in the morning?"  
  
Kíli shrugged. "The morning makes more sense," he said as he extracted his water skin from his own pack and took a mouthful. "The treasure hall has light shafts, as does a lot of Erebor. Providing that the mirrors aren't too tarnished, there should be enough light to see once the sun rises."  
  
"There are lamps in the treasure hall," Óin told them, checking Fíli's knots on the latest pack. He gave the line two sharp tugs and it began to rise in great jerks as the group above began to heave. "Lamps that burn eternal, or at least for several centuries. If Smaug hasn't smashed them, they will still be lit."  
  
"They might well send Bilbo in tonight then," Fíli realised. His dismay was echoed by Kíli and Bombur but Óin did not seem perturbed. They made short work of sending the last of the packs up the cliff and then began to ascend themselves, Kíli leading the way and Fíli bringing up the rear.  
  
They reached the top to find that a sketchy camp had been formed, packs and bedrolls laid out against the cliff face to either side of the gaping door. Their arrival interrupted a whispered argument over whether they dared risk a fire.  
  
"Where is Bilbo?" Kíli asked, looking around. "And Balin?"  
  
"They went within," Thorin said, striding over to Fíli and dragging him up next to Kíli by his shoulder. "Come with me." His other hand landed on Kíli's back and he started to push them towards the secret entrance. Bombur began to protest, but Fíli saw Bifur gesturing sharply from the edge of the group before he stopped speaking and glowered instead, worried eyes fixed on Kíli.  
  
"Uncle, is it safe?" Kíli hissed. Fíli could tell that he was digging his heels in, but Thorin was stronger than both of them.  
  
"I would have you look upon the halls of our fathers, my sister's sons," Thorin said solemnly as he shoved them inside the mountain.  
  
"What about Smaug? I would not want our entrance to put Bilbo in danger," Fíli said quietly.  
  
"He and Balin will be several corridors away by now," Thorin said, looking around with a peculiar look on his face in the bright moonlight that fell through the doorway. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Durin's folk, your home," he said, spreading his hands. "Walls that run with gold, treasures beyond counting lie ahead. Idmi Urd, khuzd-zudnûzbadu ‘Urdêk."  
  
The same green marble that Fíli had noted over the fireplace in Thorin's halls lined the corridor, shot through with thin veins of red and white. The stink of Dragon was overpowering but Thorin didn't seem to notice as he rested his hands on the smooth stone, and stared into the distance.  
  
Fíli glanced at Kíli, but the dark haired dwarf was staring at their uncle and chewing at his lip. He took a hesitant step forward, his brow furrowed, but then footsteps along the corridor caused them all to whirl around.  
  
Balin appeared, his normally rosy face pale and serious above his tangled beard. "I left him at the corridor that leads to the treasure hall," he reported. "I dared not go closer, the stone echoes so."  
  
Thorin loomed over the white haired dwarf. "How did he seem?" he demanded.  
  
"Scared but determined," Balin replied at once. "He has a core of steel, that little creature."  
  
"I only hope that he does not betray us," Thorin said absently as he led the way back out into the cool night air.  
  
Fíli looked at Kíli in confusion. "Why would he talk of betrayal?" he asked in a low whisper. Kíli shook his head miserably and shrugged for good measure, but there was something in his dark eyes that Fíli did not like.  
  
Once they returned to the ledge, the others surrounded Balin and he was able to pull Kíli aside and down onto their bedrolls.  
  
"Talk to me?" he offered, wrapping his arm around Kíli's shoulders as they leant against the cliff. "I feel that there's something you're not telling me, nadadith."  
  
Kíli opened his mouth and closed it again without making a sound. He fidgeted, long pale fingers plucking at the ends of the lacing for his shirt. Fíli reached up and covered Kíli's restless hands with his own, smiling when Kíli looked up into his face.  
  
"I... Amad once told me a story," Kíli said, sounding small and somehow younger than usual. "About Great-Grandfather and the day that the dragon came. She mentioned... She said that he had changed."  
  
Fíli nodded. "He lost Great-Grandmother only a few years before, yes?" he said, brow furrowing as he tried to remember the history.  
  
"Yes, that's right," Kíli confirmed. "She said that he stopped playing with her, stopped inviting the three of them to breakfast with him because he was always in the treasury."  
  
"Why has this got you so worried?" Fíli asked, rubbing his thumb over the back of Kíli's cold hand. His brother settled a little firmer against him and stared up into the moon-edged clouds.  
  
"Uncle heard her telling me, and he was angry," he continued in a whisper. "He said that tales of dragon-sickness were not to be told in our hall, that he was not his Grandfather."  
  
"Dragon-sickness?" Fíli turned the new phrase over in his mind. "Is it a sickness caught from a dragon? Dwarrows don't typically submit to illnesses."  
  
Kíli shuddered in his arms. "No... It is a sickness where the priorities and appetites of a dwarf become dragon-like," he replied. "Greedy and selfish, paranoid and cruel with a lust for treasure above all else."  
  
"And Thorin did not want our mother to speak of this to you?" Fíli was angry over the omission. "It seems like something we should all have been aware of, if there is a risk. Maybe we should ask uncle Bifur about it."  
  
Kíli twisted in his arms and pinned him in place. "No, don't," he begged. "Don't say anything. I'm sorry. Thorin is sure that foreknowledge of the sickness will protect him. It's just that we're all tense and he's a little out of sorts, that's all. He's not sick."  
  
Fíli looked over to where his uncle brooded by the secret door, the bright moonlight picking out the silver strands in his hair. "All right," he agreed reluctantly. "But I think we should keep an eye on him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Iglishmêk - Gesture-code/sign language.  
> Shazara - Silence  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Âzyungel – love of loves  
> Kidhuzurâl - golden one  
> Kurkarith - little raven  
> Idmi Urd, khuzd-zudnûzbadu ‘Urdêk - Welcome to the Lonely Mountain, Dwarf Kingdom of Erebor  
> Nadadith - little brother  
> Amad - mother


	16. An Undefeatable Foe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twice a week updates! Aaaaaaah! 
> 
> So... Erebor. The whole mountain was evacuated in a matter of hours and Smaug is too big to fit into most of it. It's been at least sixty years, so I set myself to thinking - what would still be around in sixty years time? Wine? Preserves? Maybe. Fabric? Depends on insects, but shut into rooms carved from stone? Probably. Leather? Of course. Pots and pans and cutlery? Absolutely. Then I thought about how a whole mountain of dwarves would go about feeding themselves, and I came up with (along with trade) mushroom caves - these would be less productive but would carry on without a huge amount of supervision, and tanks of eels or other similar edible fish. Again, these can conceivably have survived for sixty years in their holding tanks provided they were undisturbed - assuming that the tanks are part of the water system that feeds the river running and therefore not stagnant, and that the fish are feeding on algae that is growing fast enough to sustain a population. Again, probably far fewer than when Erebor was at it's height and they were being properly cared for, but some would likely have survived.   
>    
> Yes, I have overthought this. No, I don't care. This might not make it into the fic at all, but I wanted to share it with you. The Dwarves will not be starving in Erebor - it's a Kingdom not a City, the implication of Kingdom being that it's reasonably self sufficient. (Also the reason I gave Lake Town farms/fields on the shore, they can't have traded for every single piece of foodstuff that wasn't fish!). I may have spent many hours of my youth playing the Settlers games...

Bilbo was gone for hours, and eventually the others got impatient. They were huddled together by the door, shivering and arguing, when a rumble shook the mountain.  
  
"An earthquake?" Ori asked, chewing on his lip.  
  
Balin sighed and shook his head. "That, my lad, was a dragon."  
  
"Move!" Thorin barked, and they all tumbled through the doorway.  
  
Fíli and Kíli struggled to their feet, to find Bofur had waited just inside the entrance. "Maybe we should get the packs inside first?" Fíli suggested.  
  
Bofur clapped him on the shoulder. "Good idea," he said approvingly, picking up Bombur's clattering monstrosity. Their rotund relative had packed what seemed to be every pot and pan from the kitchen in lake town 'just in case'. They moved the packs and bedrolls into a messy heap around the corner from the secret door before following the others down towards the treasury.  
  
"Is it me, or is it getting warmer?" Kíli panted.  
  
Bofur skidded to a halt at a six way junction and studied the walls. "I don't like the look of this ghivashith," he said. "The treasury is down those stairs, but this left corridor leads towards the main halls, I think we-"  
  
A great roar cut him off, echoing up from the treasury entrance, followed by faint cries of dismay.  
  
Bofur listened carefully, and Fíli held his breath while he waited for his uncle to decide.   
  
"This way," he said after a long moment, taking the right hand passage with Fíli and Kíli hot on his heels. "They must have left the treasury."  
  
They ran down a passage that smelt more of damp stone than Dragon, and came out into a cavernous hall crossed by many walkways.   
  
"Quiet now, lads," Bofur hissed as they passed through the door. "Smaug could be anywhere."  
  
Kíli flattened himself against the stonework and wormed his way to the edge of the walkway. After a moment, Bofur and Fíli followed his example and were in prime position to watch as Bilbo, Thorin and Balin dashed out onto a lower bridge. A scrape from behind him made Fíli twist round and choke on air, clawing for Kíli's arm as he watched the great red bulk of Smaug climb over the bridge above theirs, misshapen coins falling from his scales. The miasma of rotten flesh that seemed to cling to his wings wafted down, making them gag and retch.  
  
As quietly as they could manage in their panic and sickness, they fled back to the safety of the passage.  
  
Bofur fumbled his pipeweed pouch out and stuck his nose in it for a moment to clear the scent of dragon. "It would be helpful if we had any idea where they were headed," he sighed, handing over the pipeweed so that Fíli and Kíli could likewise clear their sinuses, his eyes tracking Smaug's tail as it scraped over the bridge they had been standing on. "Kíli, any ideas? You've probably heard the most stories out of the three of us."  
  
Crouched next to his brother, Fíli could feel the supressed tremors running through his lithe frame. "Don't worry if not," he encouraged. "We'll figure it out."  
  
"I don't... The armoury or the front hall? I don't - the plan was to get the stone and get out. The Dragon was something to deal with once we had the whole army and specialised siege weapons and things. They were in the treasury, and Thror lost the arkenstone in it when they were escaping from Smaug. If they've found it then they should be trying to get out."  
  
"But then why not simply backtrack to the secret door?" Bofur pointed out. "Bilbo must not have found it."  
  
"The treasure hall is vast, Thorin said," Kíli whispered. "Perhaps he didn't have enough time to search before Smaug was disturbed."  
  
"So the armoury makes more sense," Bofur decided. "There weren't markings for it on that last junction point, so let's make our way over to the other side, see if we get more of a clue there."  
  
"Have you ever seen a map of the mountain?" Fíli asked Kíli as they cautiously moved out from the safety of the corridor. Smaug was nowhere to be seen, although the dim moonlight that reflected down the light shafts shadowed more than it illuminated.  
  
"Yes, I think the mines are in the centre, and around the old lava shafts, sort of like a star pattern," Kíli explained as they made their way across. "The main armoury was... Near the great gate I think. The royal apartments are above where the river running springs from the stone, wherever that is. Follow the water backwards I suppose. The great reservoirs that served both the homes and supplied water for the forge mechanisms are carved into the eastern spur of the mountain, and the forge is there," he recited.  
  
"Good lad, that's more than we knew before," Bofur said approvingly, clapping Kíli on the shoulder before pulling him forward to ruffle his hair. Kíli looked torn between pride and annoyance and despite the dangerous dragon on the loose Mahal-knows-where, Fíli had to stifle a grin at the conflicted expression.  
  
Now they had a rough direction to aim in they ran faster, ears straining for the ring of dwarven boots or the soft scuff of dragonscale against the stone. They all tensed as the floor vibrated under their boots, gathering together in the gloom.  
  
"Smaug is a ways away then," Bofur said cheerfully. It was the first time any of them had spoken louder than a whisper since the door had opened, and Fíli was torn between relaxing his guard and throwing his hands over his uncle's mouth to quieten the sound. They dashed into yet another intersection and paused to study the runes carved above each door.  
  
"Down to the first hall I think," Bofur said after a moment. "I think we're on the third level here, or perhaps the fourth. We need to find some stairs, the others were already a level or two below us."  
  
"The treasury spanned at least three levels," Kíli remembered. "So they had a few options when they left it."  
  
They descended the next staircase they found, taking the steps two at a time, and burst into a room that Kíli identified at once as the Hall of Kings. The moonlight was stronger here, falling directly through window slits carved into the rock rather than down light shafts lined with tarnished metal. A hulking tower of rough rock stood incongruously at one end, but they didn't have time or breath to talk about it. Kíli led the group right again, towards the hall that led to the main gate. The air was cold and damp now, the river running flowing through specially carved channels in the rock before diving under the main gates in a smooth torrent, the flow evened out by unseen carvings so that it barely made a sound as it rushed past in one smooth mass.  
  
Not for the first time, Fíli wondered at the skill of his ancestors. He hoped that with this home reclaimed, records of the old techniques would have survived and his people would have a chance to relearn lost knowledge.   
  
From the look on his face, Bofur had similar hopes as he stared at the dark water, and Kíli was looking between the two of them with his hands planted firmly on his hips, although the light in his eyes belied his frustrated expression.  
  
"You can marvel over the architecture later," he said sternly. "Right now there is a live dragon in the mountain!"  
  
They took a moment to splash their hot faces in the icy water and gulp a few mouthfuls to sooth their dry throats before running on. Bofur took the lead now, following the path indicated by the carved runes until they skidded to a halt next to a pile of tumbled rubble and slag that was all that was left of the main gate on the inside. There was no sign of the rest of the company, nor of a way out.  
  
"Mahumb," Bofur cursed. "All right. Perhaps they went to the armoury instead?"  
  
It took them quite some time to find the right passage, and when they did the armoury was likewise cold and abandoned, cobwebs undisturbed. They took the opportunity to replace the weapons they had been given in Lake Town with some proper dwarven steel from the collection and Fíli felt a wolfish grin stretching his cheeks as he finally had what he considered the correct number of knives secreted around his person.  
  
"Our little hedgehog," Bofur said fondly. "All right, Kíli, any idea where they might have gone?"  
  
Kíli shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps they backtracked to the treasury to get out now that Smaug has been drawn away?" he suggested.  
  
"It's as good an idea as any," Bofur agreed, and they began to retrace their steps. They were jogging along the edge of the river when suddenly the water level dropped dramatically from where it had almost been lapping at the smooth stone of the path.  
  
"What would cause that?" Fíli wondered, slowing to a walk. "Do you think Smaug broke something?"  
  
"Listen," Kíli said and they all paused in their tracks, ears straining. A low thrum had sounded, different to the vibrations caused by Smaug's destruction. This was almost musical. It sounded right somehow, in tune with the stone.  
  
"The forges," Fíli breathed in amazement. "They've started the forges." He had studied Erebor's forges, as best as he could, reading texts that described the set up and what it was capable of. While Khazad-dûm had had seven forges, Erebor had only had the one, and the pulley system that had delivered ore to the great smelters had been powered by a series of water wheels.  
  
"Well, at least now we know where the others are," Bofur said grimly. "Kíli, do you remember anything helpful?"  
  
"I think there's a passage behind the Hall of Kings," Kíli chewed at his lip as he did his best to remember. "But... the forges were on a different level, I can't remember if it's higher or lower though."  
  
"Good enough, at least we already found the Hall of Kings," Bofur groaned as they changed direction yet again, clattering their way across a cross hatched stone bridge that spanned the river and sprinting towards the low entrance to the hall.  
  
The noise from the forges was strangely muffled here, although the vibrations still rung through the floor, sounding out the heartbeat of the mountain. Fíli expected that the older dwarrows in the company were misty-eyed in remembrance, provided that they weren't too scorched to notice. The strange mound of stone at end of the hall caught his eye again, this time there was something even odder about it.  
  
"Is it... smoking?" he asked as they ran towards it. Something was certainly happening at the top, but in the dim light it was hard to see exactly what.  
  
"There's gold up there!" Kíli gasped. "Come over here, you can see it better."  
  
Fíli angled his steps and managed to catch sight of what had previously been hidden behind mounding stone. A thick stream of molten gold was pouring from an opening in the wall into the pile of stones, yet nothing was splashing onto the polished floor of the Hall.  
  
"It must be a mould," he realised. "A bloody giant mould. What on earth are they doing? Or was this already all set up and it's just a coincidence now that the forges are lit?"  
  
"Barufûn, du bekâr!" a familiar voice bellowed and the three of them looked up in shock to see Bifur balanced on a narrow stone ledge, a thick chain in his hands. He was gesturing urgently for them to veer left, away from the stepped depression in the centre of the hall. Long used to following Bifur's instructions, Fíli immediately started to herd Bofur and Kíli up the steps at an angle, and when he next checked Bifur was smiling at him, shoulders hunched in relief.  
  
Something dark disrupted the river of molten gold lighting the end of the hall, and Fíli nearly ran smack into Kíli as he realised that Thorin was now hanging from a chain above the mould.  
  
They reached the far wall and began to look for a way up to stand with their kin when with a rumbling crash Smaug appeared, enraged and ranting. A great tapestry depicting the founding of Erebor crashed to the floor and Kíli inhaled in shock.  
  
"Bilbo was under there," he whispered. "I saw him just before the fabric fell."  
  
"If Smaug sees us we're toast," Bofur predicted grimly. "I can't see an easy way up to the ledge, ghivashith, but there's a doorway behind that bit of carving." He led the way and pushed Kíli in first over the dwarrows hissed protests as Thorin began to taunt Smaug.  
  
They reached the doorway just as Thorin bellowed something and the hall was filled with the sounds of straining metal as the rest of the company pulled at the pins holding the iron bands around the mould together. A large chunk of masonry landed where they had been standing scant seconds before and Bofur sagged onto Fíli's shoulder.  
  
"Is... Is that a golden statue?" Kíli asked incredulously as Smaug paused in the centre of the hall, seemingly enthralled by his own reflection in the gleaming gold.  
  
"There's no way that it's set," Fíli realised. "It was molten just a moment ago!"   
  
He felt a grim satisfaction as the statue began to fall apart, flooding the hall in stinging, molten gold. Smaug went under with a great shriek of dismay that threatened to deafen them, and when his ears had recovered he realised that Bifur and Bofur were pelting down the corridor towards them.  
  
"Did it work?" Bombur panted. "Is he drowned?"  
  
"Seems that way," Bofur started to say, looking out over the smooth golden lake, but at that moment Smaug burst free from the metal and began to move, snarling and spitting curses, towards the Great Gate.  
  
Bilbo appeared from under the fallen tapestry and shouted at the great beast, but Smaug ignored him.  
  
Kíli huffed a sigh of relief at the sight of the hobbit and they all started towards him, taking care not to step in the hot metal that was splashed across the marble floor.  
  
"This is going to be a pain to put right," Bofur observed.  
  
They raced after the hobbit, who was running after Smaug as fast as his short legs could carry him, but they were all thrown to the floor as a great rumble shook the mountain.  
  
"That'll be the front gate," Kíli panted as they climbed to their feet. "At least there's another way out now."  
  
"All those poor people!" Bilbo was moaning as they unearthed him from the folds of dusty tapestry he had been thrown into.   
  
The stones dislodged by Smaug had partially blocked the river and the front hall was awash with icy water by the time they made their way there. Bilbo darted forwards into the night to watch for the Dragon, but Thorin called all the dwarves back to the treasury, to search for the arkenstone before Smaug returned.  
  
"We should leave a watch at the gate," Fíli said. "So we'll have warning if he comes back. Ori, Kíli and I are the fastest runners, we can take shifts."  
  
"Very well," Thorin growled, before spinning on his heel.   
  
"I'll go first," Fíli assured the other two, looking at their disappointed faces. "You go and see the great wealth of our ancestors."  
  
Ori beamed at him and dashed off. Fíli half expected Kíli to do the same, but the younger dwarf glanced around quickly before darting forward and brushing a light kiss across his lips. "Alive for now, âzyungel," he whispered, his warm breath lingering for a long moment as he jogged away.  
  
Left alone in the moon-lit entrance hall, Fíli turned his attention to the rubble blocking the river. It seemed like if he moved a few key pieces, the water pressure might be enough to shift the rest a bit further downstream, enough that the main flood was in the valley rather than in the entranceway.  
  
He started looking through the piles of debris for something to use as a lever.   
  
Dawn was breaking, rose gold light falling onto the green marble, when Bilbo trudged back inside. The Hobbit was pale and shivering, but he had a strange light in his eyes and a raven following him.  
  
"Bilbo?" Fíli asked, leaving his lever stuck between two stones. "Does the dragon return?"  
  
"The Dragon fell," the raven croaked, its Westron clearly formed despite it's sharp beak.  
  
"Fíli of the line of Narvi at your service," Fíli said, bowing to the bird, who bobbed back.  
  
"Roäc, son of Carc," Roäc replied. "Has the line of Durin returned to the Mountain?"  
  
"Yes," Fíli confirmed. "My uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, is the leader of our company.  
  
"Glad tidings indeed!" the bird croaked.  
  
"Bilbo, would you take Roäc to Thorin?" Fíli asked. "I want to carry on getting the river cleared before the entry way becomes either a sheet of ice or a lake, but the news of Smaug's demise should not wait."  
  
"Why are none of the others helping you?" Bilbo asked, looking at the wet floor in dismay.  
  
"Thorin wanted them looking for the arkenstone as quickly as possible before Smaug returned," Fíli explained. "Now that we know that he is dead, perhaps mention it to him and see if Bombur or Bofur would come and help me?"  
  
Bilbo set off, jumping from one piece of stone to the next in an attempt to keep his bare feet dry, and Roäc flew after him with lazy beats of his sooty wings. Fíli turned his attention back to the stones, there at least was a way to be useful. Once they had the river cleared, perhaps they could make a start on the mess that Smaug had made of their gates.  
  
  
  
Fíli hadn't expected the entire company to tear themselves away from the treasury at the news, but it seemed that the knowledge that the fire-breathing drake would not be returning had turned Thorin's mind from searching to defence. He had just finished moving his fifth stone when the rest of the company appeared, sleeves rolled up and eager to tackle a problem they knew how to solve.  
  
With thirteen dwarves working hard, the river was soon clear enough that it was no longer flooding, and then Thorin set everyone but Kíli and Fíli to building a wall - Kíli because he wanted him to go hunting on the slopes of the mountain, and Fíli because he was already weary from moving the stones alone, and someone needed to go and close the secret door lest an enemy get in that way.  
  
Bilbo volunteered to accompany Kíli and determine the state of the plants on the slopes of Erebor, so the two miss-matched figures set out at once, Kíli armed with the blackened steel recurve he had found in Erebor's armoury.  
  
Fíli hoped that they would come back with a goose or a brace of ducks, there was enough water around that waterfowl should be plentiful.  
  
The trip back to the secret door was considerably longer now that he was not running in fear for his life, but Fíli found that he remembered the turns well enough. The harsh angles of Erebor were nothing like the meandering paths of Khagal'abbad, worn by the passage of years and carved into the softer stone of the Blue Mountains. Erebor was formed of harder rock, and the walls and floor were dead straight.  
  
Fíli avoided going through the treasury, although he suspected that it was the shorter route. After Kíli's explanation of dragon sickness, he was afraid to see the dragon's hoard for himself. What if the sight of so much treasure changed him? He could not control what the others did, but he could decide for himself what he was comfortable with, and the thought of searching through stacks of gold made him uneasy.  
  
The pocket valley was just as they had left it, shadowed from the morning sunlight by the bulk of the mountain. Fíli breathed deep, filling his lungs with fresh air, before removing the key from the lock.   
  
The door was well hung and once inside it was easy enough to push closed. He wondered how Thror and Thrain had managed to close it from the outside.   
  
Main task complete, he turned his attention to the pile of packs. Although significantly lighter than they had been on leaving the shire, or even Beorn's house, the pile of stuff they had carried to Erebor was still sizable. Still, Fíli hadn't even hit a century yet and was far from the end of his endurance. He reckoned he could move everything in two trips.  
  
  
Three trips later, having underestimated just how much Bombur, Dori and Nori had packed, the packs were all neatly stacked in the guard chambers next to the treasury, and Fíli still hadn't been inside the cavernous room. The guard chambers had a cast iron oven with a flue that had enough of a draw that Fíli was reasonably sure they wouldn't suffocate using it, a large scarred wooden table in what was probably the dining hall, and even some stores, although most of the food had been ruined by time.  
  
Fíli left the majority of the exploration for Bombur, not wanting to deprive his uncle of the pleasure. There were two rooms with hooks for hammocks, but the fabric was either stored elsewhere or had rotted into dust. Fíli suspected the former, but had no idea where to start looking. He made a mental note to mention it to Dwalin.  
  
Duty discharged, he made his way back to the entrance hall and was surprised to see that a wall was already taking shape, interlocking blocks of stone forming both a wall and a rough staircase up one edge. He could see the shape of the previous battlements either side of the original gate, and it seemed that the plan was to get the new barrier at least part of the way up to them.  
  
The River Running was still not clear, but the damming stones had moved further downstream and there was now a small moat in front of the gate.  
  
"Will Kíli and Bilbo be able to get back?" he asked Bofur as his uncle walked past carrying a large piece of statue.  
  
"There's a narrow path around the edge, you just can't see it from here," Bofur assured him. "Door closed?"  
  
"And packs moved to the guardroom by the treasury," Fíli confirmed, helping Bofur leaver the stone into place. "There's an oven and everything."  
  
"Oi, Bombur!" Bofur called at once. "Kidhuzurâlê found you a kitchen!"   
  
Bombur was bright red with effort and his nose glistened with sweat as he worked with Dori to move the larger stone pieces into the sling of a wooden crane that someone - probably Bofur - had rigged. "Excellent news!" he puffed. "Young Kíli should be back with dinner soon, and I was wondering how I would cook it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Ghivashith - young treasure (Bofur's name for all his nieces and nephews)  
> Mahumb – Droppings (feces)  
> Barufûn, du bekâr! - Kinsman, to arms!  
> Âzyungel – love of loves  
> Khagal'abbad - Blue Mountains (Ered Luin)  
> Kidhuzurâlê - My/our golden one
> 
> I'm hoping this chapter finds you all well, with the current coronavirus situation. I've always seen stories as a way to relax escape from the harsh realities of life, and I think we all need that now more than ever. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!


	17. An Unrecognisable Relative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that everyone is keeping themselves and their families as safe as can be, and I hope that this chapter provides a small reprieve from the perils of social isolation! 
> 
> Kíli has a line in this chapter that has been planned since the very beginning. Wanna guess what it is?

The wall took two days to complete, and once it was done and they were secure in the mountain, Fíli ran out of excuses to avoid the treasury.  
  
Kíli turned to Fíli with a delighted smile as he led the way into the hall. "See, Fee, there's so much!" he exclaimed. "Rivers and rivers of gold!"  
  
Fíli looked on the sea of metal, at the squat figures of the company as they trudged through the piles of riches in search of things ever more lovely, and felt sick to his stomach. Uncle Bombur was busy in the guardroom kitchen, but Bifur and Bofur were there, walking slowly among the hills of coins. Bofur had a tiara perched incongruously on top of his hat and seemed cheerful, while Bifur searched systematically for any evidence of the toys that the mountain kingdom had been so famous for in centuries past.  
  
Glóin and Óin were sitting side by side, weighing unshaped golden nuggets and laughing, while Nori was using a polished eyeglass to look at cut gemstones, Ori and Dori by his sides as they sorted through the boxes of diamonds and emeralds, giggling together.  
  
Fíli was dirty and itchy and the whole hall reeked of dragon. He wanted to figure out the closest usable bathing room, but Thorin had made it very clear over their breakfast of cold goose that he expected everyone not on the wall to search the treasury. Now that Fíli had seen it, he couldn't wait to leave, and he spared a second to thank Mahal that the gold seemed to have no hold over him.  
  
"I think we've got enough dwarves searching for the stone, I'm going to go see if uncle Bombur needs help," he said carefully, watching as Kíli sorted though a pile of gold for the arkenstone with strangely dull eyes. "Do you want to come?"  
  
Kíli chewed on his lip, visibly torn. His gaze darted around the treasury and he flipped a single golden coin over his knuckles without looking at it, the simple disk flashing as it reflected the red light from the eternal braziers.  
  
After a long moment Fíli sighed and turned away. "I'll be back later," he promised. Back, and hopefully with a better idea of how to separate Kíli from the lure of the gold. Perhaps a mug of hot tea? Or if he could figure out where, the lure of a private bath.  
  
He just walking through the door when a sudden clatter of metal on metal made him whirl around just in time to catch Kíli when he tripped over a chalice in his haste. They both staggered backwards out of the treasury into the dim corridor, Kíli holding on tightly as he buried his face in Fíli's chest.  
  
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," he gabbled miserably. "It got me, didn't it? I didn't even realise until I turned and saw you walking away. I never want to make you walk away from me." He took a deep breath and straightened up to look Fíli in the eye. "Your hair is the only gold I need in my life, kidhuzurâlê, âzyungel."  
  
Relief swept through Fíli like a cool wave and he clutched Kíli to his chest. Kíli's thin fingers were fisted in his shirt tight enough that the worn fabric threatened to tear as he whispered apologies.  
  
"It's all right, âzyungel," he promised, suddenly reluctant to take Kíli to Bombur when he was this upset. In front of their uncle, the comforting touches he longed to give would arouse suspicion. He wrapped his arm around Kíli's shoulder and turned to look down the passage. "Hey, let's find the hot springs, all right? That'll help everyone, we're all miserably dirty and the river is far to cold to bathe in."  
  
"Like being stabbed by ice knives," Kíli agreed with a sniff, settling into Fíli's side. "All right. Uncle can't complain about that, can he?"  
  
Thorin had been acting irrationally since they had entered the mountain - getting him to leave the treasury for dinner the night before had taken the combined efforts of Balin, Dwalin and Bilbo - so Fíli wasn't entirely sure what he would do from one moment to the next. Sometimes they were his precious nephews, and other times they were less than nothing, valued only as bodies to work in the search for or defence of the stone.   
  
He didn't want to lie to Kíli so he smiled instead and led the way deeper into the mountain.  
  
Working on the assumption that bathing areas were likely to be near to living quarters, they took a passage that led in the general direction of the royal chambers, only to be stopped by old battle damage. Fíli looked in dismay at the piles of unstable rubble filling the corridor they had been walking down. It looked like one of the higher halls may have caved in. He reached out to touch the tumbled rock, but stopped just before his fingers brushed the stone, not wanting to cause a rockslide.  
  
"All right, new plan," Kíli announced, rubbing his hands together. "There are houses in the north-western quadrant or more houses in the south-eastern," the dark haired dwarrow remembered, crouching to sketch a rough outline of the mountain in the masonry dust that caked the floor. "I think the reservoirs for the forges are due east of here, but those are cold."  
  
"If we go through the treasury to the north-western quadrant, we can come back through it if we don't find anything. It'll look like we've just been searching on that side of the room," Fíli suggested.   
  
Kíli nodded. "All right, let's go!"   
  
They hadn't gone far before being blocked, and the trip back to the cavernous treasury seemed to take no time at all. Fíli wished that they could have avoided it entirely, but Kíli was fearless and Fíli didn't want to let on exactly how uneasy the gold made him.   
  
The room was just as they had left it, the other dwarrows having barely moved from their positions pouring over the treasure. Bifur waved at them absently as they walked past, most of his attention fixed on the small clockwork mouse he held gently in his hands.  
  
"I wish we had a map of the mountain," Kíli huffed as they climbed their way up a tumbled mountain of gold coins, tinkling avalanches falling under their boots as they made their way across to the dark marble staircase.  
  
"I wish I knew what possessed our ancestors to mint this many coins," Fíli huffed. "Surely gold bars would have been both practical and easier to stack.  
  
Kíli stooped and picked up a handful. "These are all different, different years, different Kings," he said as he turned them over. "Oh... This wasn't minted here, this is from Dale."  
  
Fíli looked around the vast hall. "You mean to tell me that this isn't all ours?" he asked.  
  
Kíli shrugged and let the gold fall. "Smaug sacked Dale at the same time, it makes sense that he took their treasure for his own and brought it in here."  
  
Fíli groaned. "Well, that will be a nightmare," he predicted gloomily.   
  
"What?" Kíli asked, reaching the staircase and turning to offer his hand to haul Fíli the last few paces.  
  
"Separating it to give it back," Fíli grunted as he accepted the assist. Kíli's dark eyes were round with surprise as he stared over the golden hoard.  
  
"Give it back?" he echoed weakly.  
  
Fíli shrugged. "Sure; we can't keep it, that would be stealing," he pointed out. "Well, I guess Smaug stole it in the first place, but it amounts to the same thing. Some of the dwarvish coins are probably from there as well, but unless we used a specific design for export we'll never figure out which ones. Hopefully the reward Thorin promised them will make up most of the difference."  
  
Kíli's mouth worked soundlessly for a long moment before he shut it so hard his teeth clicked together audibly. He nodded his agreement, a strange mix of fear and pride warring for first place on his face.  
  
Fíli picked up a small oil lantern from a shelf next to the treasury exit and lit it from one of the eternal braziers before he led the way deeper into the mountain, following the signs carved into the dark green rock. The corridors were cool and dry, it should be easy enough to follow any trace of moisture in the air towards the hot springs.  
  
When they finally found the right passage, after tracking a damp stream of air down three different passages, Fíli felt like crying. The hot springs were everything he could have wanted, although grey stalactites with swirls of orange and pink had started to form on the ceiling from the mineral rich steam. There were marks indicating that in the past the ceiling had been chiselled smooth, so perhaps this was an ongoing issue? The pools themselves were hollowed out of the rock, a constant flow of hot water running through that rippled and steamed in the lamplight. Storage niches had been carved into the walls, although most of the contents had been ruined by time and the damp air.  
  
Fíli stripped out of his filthy clothes and barely hesitated before plunging his shirt and underclothes into the coolest of the pools. Brown-grey filth immediately started to discolour the water as it flowed through the abused fibres and he searched the storage niches for something to use to wipe his leather trousers down as Kíli gave his own clothing the same treatment.  
  
"I think the oil is all right still," the dark haired dwarrow said as he agitated the water. "Some have the wax seals intact. The soap blocks have long since melted like candle wax into the damp air, you'll need a chisel to get anything usable out, and that's if the stuff even still works."  
  
"Oil, huh?" Fíli asked, picking up a bottle and turning around to see Kíli's suggestive smile.  
  
"Let's get clean first, I have plans for you after," he said, dark eyes tracing over Fíli's exposed skin. Fíli suppressed a shiver and forced himself to stand tall under the scrutiny.  
  
"See something you like?" he asked with mock carelessness as he bent to wipe down his trousers with a scrap of cloth, suddenly hyper conscious of the shift of his bare cock against his thigh.  
  
"Something I want to lick," Kíli replied, using his boot knife to scrape melted soap off of the rock. He moulded it into a ball, his long fingers pressing and shaping and Fíli nearly dropped the leather into the pool he was so distracted.  
  
Putting his trousers safely aside to drip dry in the warm damp air, he joined Kíli where he was bent over the side of the pool, rubbing the reclaimed soap against the worst of the stains. Despite being decades old, it was making a valiant attempt to lather up, leaving a scent reminiscent of faded rosemary floating in the air.  
  
"I think that's as good as we're going to get," Kíli said after a few minutes, pulling out his shirt to glare at it critically. "One last rinse, and then let's leave these to dry out a bit.  
  
They had passed a small antichamber on their way into the bathing room. Shivering a little in the cooler air, they padded their way in in bare feet, each holding a bundle of dripping wet fabric. Kíli lifted the lantern high as Fíli started to spread the wet clothes on aged wooden rails seemingly carved for just that purpose, and then the light flickered wildly as he dashed towards the back wall.  
  
"There are towels here!" he crowed in delight. "Threadbare and musty, but better than nothing!"  
  
"Bring the lantern back here," Fíli grumbled at him. "I can't see what I'm doing, and I'm cold."  
  
Kíli practically skipped back, two folded towels clenched one hand and a beaming smile splitting his face and Fíli couldn't help smiling back as he spread the last dripping item on the drying rack.   
  
Hand in hand they raced back into the warmth of the bathing room, leaving the lantern on a high ledge to flood the room with dim yellow light. They cautiously dipped chilled toes into the warmest of the pools and Fíli laughed with delight as Kíli stubbornly continued to submerge himself in the steaming water, despite shifting from foot to foot with discomfort over the heat.  
  
Used to long hours at the forge, the temperature shift didn't bother him overly much and he was enveloped in hot water to his ears by the time Kíli's navel was underwater.  
  
They used the last of the soap they had scraped out to scrub the dirt of travel from their bodies and rinse through their hair before moving to a slightly cooler, pool to soak once the last of the dirty water had been carried away by the current.  
  
"I have bruises," Kíli remarked, poking at one on his thigh as he stepped from one level to the next. "I wonder how I got this one?"   
  
Fíli shrugged and uncorked the flask of oil that Kíli had left within arms reach. "I can think of more pleasurable things to do than contemplate your bruises," he said, tipping oil into his cupped palm. "Come here."  
  
As he had suspected, Kíli's shoulders were tight and knotted under his oiled fingers despite the warmth of the bath. He massaged firmly, drawing groans and sighs from the younger dwarf before the archer pulled away and returned the favour.  
  
It didn't take long for Kíli's hands to start to wander, stroking over the strong planes of his back and teasing their way forward around his hips. Confident that the massage was over, Fíli pressed back, angling his head around to kiss the underside of Kíli's stubbled jaw. He could feel the telltale press of hardened flesh against his lower back and purposefully rolled against it, drawing forth a shiver from the younger Dwarf.  
  
Strong fingers pressed into his skin, trailing lower until one calloused fingertip skirted close to his entrance. "May I?" Kíli breathed into his ear, barely audible over the splashing water.  
  
"All right," Fíli agreed, apprehension warring with the arousal.   
  
"We can stop if you don't like it," Kíli promised, reaching for the oil. "Just fingers at first, all right?"  
  
Fíli nodded, and shifted forward so that his chest pressed against the rim of the pool, his knees finding a stone ledge that lifted him above the surface of the water. This probably was not what the builders had in mind when they designed it, he thought with a touch of hysteria. His cock and stones were still partially submerged, the lapping water an odd counterpoint to the oil-slick touch of Kíli's long fingers.  
  
"Mahal, Fee," his brother whispered. "Look at you. My perfect golden love."  
  
"Far from perfect," Fíli grunted, biting his lip as he was breached by a cautious fingertip. The stretch was strange, a little uncomfortable, and very different to the feel of Kíli's tongue licking at the furled muscles.  
  
"Perfect for me," Kíli retorted, gently moving his finger in and out. He paused for a moment and Fíli couldn't hold in his gasp as cool oil spilled over his backside. He started to relax into the new sensation, and as if he could feel the muscles unfurling Kíli pushed in a second finger, rotating and scissoring as he worked the tight muscles open.  
  
"All right?"   
  
"Getting there," Fíli replied, and then stifled a yelp as an oiled palm rubbed unexpectedly against his flagging erection. He stiffened so quickly he was surprised he wasn't dizzy, and suddenly the fingers inside him weren't so intrusive. He shifted back experimentally, and Kíli's fingertip rubbed against something inside him that made him buck back harder, suddenly desperate for more sensation.  
  
Kíli chuckled. "Found it," he whispered. "Feels good, yes?"  
  
"So good," Fíli gasped. "Is that why you..."  
  
"Yes," Kíli replied straight away. "That's part of it at least," he added, and Fíli felt the press of a third finger against his entrance. Kíli was brushing past that spot inside him with every press now, and Fíli could feel his own member start to throb in response.  
  
"I think I could come from this," he confessed.  
  
He wasn't expecting all movement to cease entirely, and had to bite back a whine. "Like this, from behind? Or facing me?" Kíli asked. "I think the angle might be easier like this, for your first time."  
  
"All right," Fíli agreed. He wanted to see Kíli's face, but somehow feeling him was enough, and the way that the rippling warm water lapped at the head of his reddening cock was a maddening tease that he didn't want to end.  
  
The blunt head of his brother's shaft seemed far thicker than his fingers as he began to press in.  
  
"Mahal," he swore as his warmed muscles stretched further, shifting his feet against the textured marble.  
  
"Am I hurting you?" Kíli panted hoarsely.  
  
"No," Fíli assured him. "It's just strange."  
  
Strange was one way of describing it, but he wanted to give this to Kíli, wanted a relationship of equals. The dark haired dwarf paused to add a little more oil, and the almost unbearable stretch suddenly eased with the extra lubrication around his hole. An oiled hand reached up to tweak a nipple and he felt Kíli's smooth forehead and hot breath against his shoulderblade.  
  
"All right?" he asked, and Kíli laughed, the movement jarring his cock.  
  
"I should be asking you that," he chided. "You're so tight! It's all I can do not to shoot off right now."  
  
"We should, ah, should try that some time," Fíli suggested as Kíli started a series of slow, rolling strokes.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Like before, in Lake Town. Finish in me and then keep on going, pushing into your own spend until we both come again."  
  
Kíli groaned. "Don't say things like that when I'm trying not to come," he complained, tweaking the hardened nipple under his fingers.  
  
"We'd um, we'd better not draw this out anyway," Fíli said, suddenly conscious that the others might miss them. "Touch me, Kee. I want to feel your fingers around me."  
  
They were far enough away from the Treasury that he let himself groan in delight when Kíli complied, the sound echoing around them over the soft slap of skin on skin. Long fingers lifted him out of the lapping water, tracing around his slit before Kíli wrapped his hand around Fíli's girth and began to pump in time with his thrusts. Fíli arched his back to help Kíli nail that special spot inside his passage every time, and closed his eyes to better experience the sensations evoked.  
  
He could feel his peak building as they moved together, stoking each other higher and higher. He ignored the aches from little used muscles, and was rewarded a few minutes later as Kíli shuddered and stilled, his cock pulsing almost painfully hard against Fíli's rim as he spilled inside. The extra stimulation was all Fíli needed to follow, his spend quickly washed away by the warm water.  
  
Kíli rested against his back for a long moment, before pulling away gently with a muttered apology. Slowly, they rinsed off the sweat and oil until they were clean again, Fíli moving cautiously, wary of off twinges from his backside.  
  
"You'll feel fine in the morning," Kíli promised him, passing him a towel. "Or at least, I did.  
  
Fíli looked around the small room in dismay as he rubbed the moisture from his arms. "We didn't bring a comb!"   
  
  
  
  
  
The other dwarrows might not have noticed their absence, but when they returned, clean and smelling like rosemary clad only in damp underthings they were instantly the centre of attention.  
  
Fíli let Kíli spin a tale on how they were searching for a suitable place to relieve themselves after searching on the other side of the treasury and came across the hot springs while he used a rack of ornate spears to hang their damp outer clothes to dry the rest of the way. Someone had found the mechanism to open the large vents in the side of the mountain and clean air was sweeping through the treasury, making the torches spit and flutter and wearing away at the reek of dragon.  
  
Even Thorin's need to find the Arkenstone could not stand in the way of the company's wish to clean themselves, and Fíli was pleased to see that they all shook off the need to stare at the treasure in favour of seeking hot water.  
  
"I'll go tell uncle Bombur, you go relieve whoever is on the wall," Fíli suggested.  
  
Kíli looked down at himself and raised an eyebrow. "Like this?" he grinned, pulling at his undershirt, worn so thin that Fíli could see his dusky nipples through the damp fabric.  
  
Fíli rolled his eyes and slung an arm around Kíli's shoulder. "Come on, I'm pretty sure we have one clean shirt left each."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Kidhuzurâlê - My/our golden one  
> Âzyungel – love of loves
> 
> A quick note on hot springs. This one does not smell of rotten eggs - given that the heat source in question is a dormant volcano rather than an active fault, it is unlikely to smell much - the smell is worst when the temperature and pressure that the water is subjected to are high as the H2S is retained. If the water does not go as deep/moves more slowly, the H2S dissipates before reaching the surface, especially if it is exposed to oxygen along the route. Dwarves would have known this I'm sure and constructed their bathing rooms with that in mind!


	18. An Unsubstantiated Accusation

Shortly after noon on the fifth day since Smaug fell Ori came racing into the treasury, out of breath and panicking.

"Men and Elves at the entrance!" he gasped.

"Elves?" Thorin snarled, seizing the nearest weapon - a jewel encrusted battle-axe that Fíli wouldn't trust to hold its edge; it had clearly been designed for the wall not for a fight - before taking off for the entrance hall at a sprint.

Balin slid down a mound of coins to land next to Ori, looking worried. "Dain will only just be setting out, we'll have to stall for time,” he muttered as he pushed a jewel encrusted helm over his braids and followed his King.

The hunt for the arkenstone was abandoned and the company ran to follow Thorin, discarding whatever treasure piles they had been sorting through. Someone, probably Dwalin, had moved a small store of weapons from the armoury to a chest next to the staircase they had constructed, so they were quickly armed and ready to present a united front to the men and elves below.

Fíli scanned the faces of the humans as Thorin talked with a man who introduced himself as Bard Dragonslayer, noting with worry that they looked exhausted and cold. The ruins of Dale were sure to be less hospitable than Erebor with winter approaching, and he wasn't sure if the hot springs extended that far underground. With the pine forests barely recovered from Smaug, they had a cold winter ahead, not to mention the potential danger from roaming orc packs.

He expected them to request shelter, and was surprised when he heard Bard request a share of the treasure instead. Erebor had strong walls and hot, running water. Although they hadn't explored fully yet due to Thorin's desperate search for the stone, he was sure that the mushroom gardens and the eel pools could supplement whatever the men were able to salvage from their stores.

Still, perhaps the elves had already pledged their assistance. Or perhaps the men disliked the thought of remining underground. It wouldn't be sensible for Thorin to let them in until Dain's forces arrived in any case, or they would be outnumbered in their own home.

"I will not part with a single piece to those who arrive armed at our gates as if to lay siege to the kingdom!" Thorin bellowed. "Where is your honour, Bard of Dale?"

"We have lost our homes due to your negligence, king of a lonely mountain!" Bard shouted back. "Would you deny us the means to defend ourselves? We ask only for the reward that was promised."

"You dare-"

"Thorin!" Fíli interrupted, desperate to stop the madness even if it meant his head. "Thorin! Listen to me; the gold is not all ours. You cannot deny them their heritage, not when you know the pain they suffer yourself!"

Thorin stared at him, his chest heaving under the elaborate breastplate he had taken to wearing. Behind him, Dwalin's eyes were narrowed with anger while Balin looked shocked.

"The gold and treasures of Dale are mixed with that of Erebor!" Fíli declared, knowing that his voice might carry down to the waiting men but feeling that it was worth the risk to save Thorin from dishonour. "We should separate it and return to them what is rightfully theirs."

"Silence your betraying tongue!" Thorin roared, and suddenly Fíli was yanked backwards, his uncles pulling him out of the way of Thorin's heavy fist.

"How dare you attempt to strike your own nephew for telling the truth!" Bombur bellowed, his normally quiet voice deafening in his rage. "We are not thieves!"

For a second Fíli thought that Bombur had gotten through to Thorin, but a second later the shock in his eyes had been replaced by a flat cold look. "Get out of my sight," he spat, turning his attention back to Bard and Thranduil.

Fíli didn't catch the rest of the conversation as Bifur and Bombur hauled him away, clattering down the makeshift staircase.

"I- I'm sorry," Fíli stammered as he was dragged along.

"Don't be," Bombur said shortly. "We're going to the kitchen."

Fíli's mind was racing so hard it seemed like only a moment before they arrived and Bombur was thrusting a warm mug into his hands. Had he been wrong to speak up? Perhaps he should have spoken with him earlier about the treasure of Dale, but he had spent the least amount of time in the treasury of them all, save Bombur. Surely the others had also noted and remarked that not all the treasure was of Erebor? But judging by Balin's reaction, he had not known, so perhaps they had not noticed, or Smaug had put the Dale treasure in a single area?

"Drink," Bombur ordered and Fíli obediently sipped at the cup of broth.

Bofur arrived and Bifur immediately closed the door to the kitchen and dropped the bar across it.

"What is going on?" Fíli asked, suddenly feeling very young.

"There's something wrong with the others," Bofur said, his face pale. "I hung back to see what would happen next, Thorin is refusing to give the Daleman back his ancestor's treasure, refusing to even contemplate it, and they're all agreeing with him!"

"Even Kíli?" Fíli couldn't help asking.

Bofur shook his head quickly. "No, not Kíli and not Ori, strangely enough. But the others... Well."

"Zuznîn Azsâlul'abad," Bifur grumbled. "Adrân safkitabi 'aimukhurb."

"We can't leave!" Fíli protested.

"Actually, we can," Bombur corrected him. "We've filled the terms of the contract, we can take our reward and leave."

"Somehow I don't think Thorin will see it like that," Bofur warned them. "Likely he'll shout about treason and cut our heads off if we try to leave.

"We could pack a few pieces, enough to live comfortably for the rest of our days, and head out the back door?" Bombur suggested. "If we go now, he might not even notice, all caught up with the men and elves like he is."

"He'll think we fled with the arkenstone, as irrational is he is now, if we leave without saying anything to him." Bofur sighed heavily and sat on a wooden stool, pulling his hat off to twist it in both hands. "I don't know what's best."

"But we know what is right," Fíli said, looking up from his broth. "The men of Dale should have their gold back. Do we know what Thranduil wants?"

"Gimli'habân, zigil ai'kheled," Bifur supplied.

"Well that narrows it down!" Fíli groaned. "There must be thousands of gems in the hall. What are they set in?”

"Gimli'habân," Bifur corrected him. "Gimli'habân ai'kibil."

"I've never seen a star-gem," Bombur said, setting a large kitchen knife to his sharpening stone. "Have you spotted any during your search for clockwork?"

"They're white with a strange twinkle, right?" Bofur chimed in. Bifur nodded. "All right, I think I saw Thorin looking at some along the south edge of the hall. He had a stranger look than usual, he probably knew ol' pointy ears wanted them."

"So, what are you suggesting?" Bombur asked, eyebrows raised to his hairline. "That we go and find the gimli'habân, claim them as part of our share of the treasure and the give them to the pointy-eared bastard and ask him to pretty please go away?"

Bofur and Bifur looked at each other for a long moment, and then shrugged. "Not the craziest plan I've ever heard," Bofur said defensively.

"That's because it's not quite as mad as stealing the arkenstone from a sleeping dragon!" Bombur huffed, testing the edge of the knife he was sharpening with his thumb and frowning in disappointment.

A loud banging on the locked door interrupted the brewing argument.

"Fíli? Uncles? Are you in there?" called a muffled voice.

Bifur strode to the door to let Kíli in, looking suspiciously down the corridor before barring it behind him.

"Don't worry, half of them are guarding the wall and the other half have gone to the armoury," the younger Dwarf assured them. "Then I think they're swapping."

"And you?" Bofur asked, his voice calm and neutral.

"I think they've all gone mad," Kíli sighed, slumping onto the bench next to Fíli and leaning against his side. "Fíli is right, we should give the men their treasure back, of course we should. And I suppose I understand why Thorin is angry that they came armed to the gates, but they didn't know that the dragon hadn't killed us." He wrinkled his nose in disgust and threw his hands into the air. "They spent decades stuffing diplomacy into my head, but they seem to have forgotten it all," he complained.

Fíli put his arm around Kíli's shoulders in a half hug. "Uncle Bifur suggested taking the gimli'habân, the star-gems, that Thranduil wants against our share of the treasure and handing them over to make them go away," he revealed. "As you're the heir, you and I could probably get away with it looking official enough to get Thranduil and his elves off of our doorstep."

Kíli raised his head, his dark brown eyes wide with surprise. "That's a good idea," he said, his eyes searching Fíli's face. "And yet also terrifying."

"We'll help you get out and back," Bombur promised them, standing up with a ladle clenched firmly in his fist. "We'll relieve the guards on the wall at sundown," he said, gesturing to Bofur and Bifur with the implement. "Bofur knows where the gems are. All right, let's sort this out before they realise that we've locked ourselves in here. Fíli, you help me in the kitchen. Nadad, you and Bifur go get the star-gems. Kíli, let those on the wall know that we'll relieve them once we've had an early dinner, and see if you can talk to Thorin about Fíli? I want to know what he's thinking."

Filled with new purpose, the family scattered to their assigned tasks. Bofur and Fíli concentrated on making a large pot of stew with a duck that Kíli had shot during a hunting trip two days earlier, supplemented with the barley from Lake Town and a few mushrooms.

“Bilbo and I went looking for the mushroom caves this morning,” Bombur explained when Fíli commented on the unexpected bounty. “We found one cave, but I’m sure there must have been more. Not sure if a rockfall has destroyed the connecting passage or if we were looking in the wrong place entirely, but we found a fair number ready for harvest. I thought the hobbit was going to weep.”

“He does seem unusually passionate about mushrooms,” Fíli agreed. “I’ve never seen the like.”

“Worse than Vitr at dinner,” Bombur smiled sadly.

“I miss them,” Fíli said quietly. Bombur’s children had become something of a taboo subject on the journey, none of the Dwarrows wanting to remind the rotund chef of what he was missing.

“They’re safe with their Ma in the family hall, far safer than we are,” Bombur said stoutly, sniffing a little as he diced mushrooms with short chops of the knife. “I wouldn’t wish them here!”

“But I could wish us there,” Fíli sighed. “If only we could fly like the ravens we could be there in two days.”

Bombur grunted his agreement and the pair prepared the rest of the meal in silence.

They had just slipped the risen bread dough into the oven when Bifur and Bofur returned with twin worried expressions. Bifur had a small leather sack under one arm, which he hung behind the open door for safekeeping.

“Any word from Kíli?” Bofur asked, leaning against the chimney wall to warm his backside. “I’d like to know if Thorin is planning on executing his nephew for imagined treason.

“He hasn’t come back yet,” Bombur told them. “I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.”

“He wasn’t in the treasure chamber by the time we left, and neither was Thorin.”

Loud, clanking footsteps down the corridor stalled their conversation and Fíli shrunk back into the shadows just in case. After a long, tense moment Kíli appeared, decked out from head to toe in ornate armour encrusted with sapphires.

“I feel ridiculous,” he grumbled, throwing himself onto the bench with a grunt of effort and a clatter of sheet metal. "And how they expect me to draw a bow with all this on my shoulders Mahal only knows."

"Aren't you a pretty picture in your Durin blue," Bofur teased and Kíli glared up at him.

"Thorin is suspicious of everyone now," he said to the group at large. "I overheard him talking to Bilbo about betrayal in the armoury. Fíli should stay out of sight for now, I don't trust Thorin not to react badly to seeing him. The others are... Some seem a little uneasy, Ori and Nori especially, but most are... Well, you've seen them."

"Aye, that we have," Bofur said sombrely. "They have changed from the dwarrows we travelled with."

"It's getting late," Bombur said, setting three bowls of steaming stew on the table. "Eat now, we might not have a chance later. I'm afraid that the bread isn't done yet."

Full of stew, they left the kitchen as the other dwarves piled in for the evening meal, drawn by the scent of Bombur's fresh baked rolls. The wall was cold and windy, and the dwarrows guarding it were happy to leave the icy stones to retreat to the warm kitchen.

"All right," Bombur rumbled as Bifur secured a rope with practised hands and tossed the tail over the wall. "The sooner you go, the sooner you're back. Mahal's blessing go with you."

The icy pool had yet to subside, chill water lapping at the barricade and masking the sounds they made as they worked their way from stone to stone around the edge of the temporary lake. The encampment was easy to see, white canvas tents lit from the inside by flickering lanterns, the dark shapes of men and elves clearly visible.

"So, I've been thinking about the Dalemen," Fíli huffed as he leapt to dry ground. "It makes no sense to ask for gold right now."

"What?" Kíli hissed. "You want to talk about that now?"

Fíli looked up at the encampment. "Well, we've got a long walk. We might as well talk about something."

"All right, I'll bite," Kíli grumbled. "What should they have asked for then?"

Pleased to be able to share his theory, Fíli explained his conclusions in a whisper as they worked their way across the broken ground to the edge of the camp. There seemed to be no groups patrolling the perimeter, which seemed a little foolish to Fíli given their numbers.

"They don't expect an attack, do they?" Kíli asked as he jumped over a small gully.

"Probably forgot about the ravens," Fíli grunted as he followed, his boots scuffing in a gravelly patch. "Do we know how long it will be before Dain arrives?"

Kíli shrugged. "Not long, the raven would have got there quickly, and it's a week's march from the Iron hills. The earliest we can expect them is tomorrow, but it would have taken some time to muster the army, so it's more likely to be two or three days before we see the war goats cresting the horizon."

"I thought Dain rode a pig?" Fíli questioned as they started to climb up the final slope to the men's camp.

"Dain does, the chariots are pulled by goats," Kíli explained. "Hush now, there are some sentries after all."

"We don't need to hide," Fíli pointed out. "We're here on a diplomatic mission." As an afterthought, he pulled his Elf-friend pendant out from under his shirt so that it was visible.

"I don't think it counts if the King doesn't know about it," Kíli muttered but he straightened up regardless and started to march directly to the largest tent. They were stopped a short distance away by a human and an elf holding spears.

"Dwarves!" the human gasped in surprise.

"I am Kíli of the line of Durin. We are here to meet with King Thranduil," Kíli said stiffly. "Please take us to him."

The Elf and the Human looked at each other in astonishment. "Uh, well I suppose-" the human began, but the elf interrupted.

"First; hand over your weapons," they demanded, eyes widening in astonishment when they spotted Fíli's necklace.

With a sigh, Kíli handed over his short sword, and nudged Fíli until he gave up both his swords and one of his knives. Kíli shot him a sideways glance, his brown eyes knowing, but the elf seemed satisfied with his haul and didn't ask again, so Fíli felt justified in keeping his other five knives on his person.

They kept quiet as they were led into the largest tent, where Thranduil, Bard Dragonslayer and Gandalf were sitting on folding chairs drinking wine.

"Fíli and Kíli!" Gandalf exclaimed, rising to his feet. "What a surprise."

Fíli frowned at the wizard. "You're late," he said mildly. "We expected to see you a fortnight ago."

"What are you doing here? Who are you?" Thranduil demanded, a sour look on his face. "Sneaking in like thieves in the night."

"We are not thieves, and we did not sneak," Kíli retorted. "Ask your guard if you do not trust my word."

Thranduil's pale eyes flashed to their escort, who must have made some sign although they had not softened in the least when they returned to stare at the brothers.

"I am Kíli, son of Dís, Heir to Thorin Oakenshield, and this is my brother, Fíli," Kíli began. "We have come, King of the Woodland Realm, to bargain." Slowly, he drew the leather sack out from under his arm. "Draw back your forces from the gates of our Kingdom and leave us in peace."

"And what do you offer me in return for such magnanimity, Heir to a lost Kingdom?" Thranduil demanded haughtily.

Kíli reached into the bag and drew forth a delicate necklace of starlight gems set in silver. They caught the light from the lamps and rainbows shone around the walls of the tent, flashing across the faces of the astonished watchers.

Fíli watched in astonishment as pain flashed across the face of the elven King and he closed his eyes.

"Do you accept our terms?" Kíli asked steadily, putting the necklace away and ending the distracting light show. The tent was silent as they waited for Thranduil's decision.

"I accept," the elf said eventually. He turned to the guard. "Inform the captains that we will withdraw at dawn. We will still provide aid to the men of the lake as promised, but the majority of the forces will withdraw to Eryn Lasgalen.

"Wait just a minute!" Bard protested, leaping to his feet as Kíli handed over the bag.

Thranduil gave him a dismissive look. "Terms have been offered and accepted," he said coldly. "Do you deny my right to conduct business and order my troops as I see fit?"

The man sat down, a dark look on his face.

"We would offer council, if you would hear it," Kíli said to him, surprising Fíli for all that that had talked about it on the walk from the mountain. Bard waved dismissively, and Kíli glanced at Fíli before continuing, worry clear in his dark eyes. "We hope that King Thorin will be more willing to negotiate once the forces of the Greenwood draw back from the gate. However, we believe that you are attempting to negotiate for items of lesser immediate value to your people."

Bard frowned at them both. "Explain," he demanded flatly.

"The kingdom of Erebor has strong walls, hot running water, and food," Fíli explained, stepping forward as Kíli hesitated. "You could negotiate with Thorin for food and shelter for your people this winter, and request our aid to help rebuild Dale."

Bard snorted. "Give up the treasure we are owed for dank caves and short rations?" he retorted. "I think not."

Fíli stepped back in dismay and saw Thranduil and Gandalf exchange a concerned look.

"Bard, the Dwarves of Erebor helped build Dale in the first place," Gandalf pointed out. "It seems foolish not to include them in the rebuild."

"No Dwarf will be welcome in Dale until the reward that was promised to our people has been received," Bard said firmly, a strange pale light in his eyes.

Kíli reached out to touch Fíli on the shoulder and both dwarves bowed to the three taller beings. "In that case we have nothing further to say, and will take our leave," Kíli said formally.

Thranduil nodded at him, and then stared at Fíli for a long moment. "Agorel vae, elvellon," he said, raising a fist to his shoulder and inclining his head. "Na lû e-govaned vîn."

"Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal," Fíli replied, barely finishing the phrase before his horrified brother was dragging him bodily out of the tent. His arm brushed against something soft in the dark, but when he looked round there was nothing there.

"What were you thinking?" Kíli hissed, distracting him from finding out what it was he had bumped into. "Speaking our language to an elf? To that elf especially!"

"He spoke his," Fíli pointed out as he accepted his weapons back from the guard that had confiscated them.

"His isn't a secret," Kíli retorted as he shouldered his bow. "Come on, if we hurry we can get a few hours of sleep before dawn."

"Sounds good," Fíli agreed, stifling a yawn. Side by side they jogged down the hill in the darkness. Behind them, there was a flash of yellow light as the tent flap opened again to admit a thin shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations  
>    
> Zuznîn Azsâlul'abad - The kingdom is rotten (lit. Bad-place Lonely Mountain)  
> Adrân safkitabi 'aimukhurb – Time to pack the pony (time to leave)  
> Gimli'habân, zigil ai'kheled - Star-gems, silver on mirror  
> Gimli'habân ai'kibil - Star-gems in silver  
> Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal - May we meet again with the grace of Mahal (formal farewell)  
>    
> Elvish Translations:  
>    
> Eryn Lasgalen - Wood of the Greeleaves  
> Agorel vae, elvellon - you did well, elf-friend  
> Na lû e-govaned vîn - until next we meet (goodbye).


	19. An Uneven Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Thorin, Bilbo and Kíli's lines taken directly from the film.

Fíli and Kíli's absence had not been noted and they were able to catch a few hours of sleep before Nori raised the alarm that Men were approaching the gates again, and that the Elves seemed to be preparing to depart. Stomachs growling for want of breakfast, they arrived at the top of the wall in time to catch Bard Dragonslayer saying something about negotiating.  
  
"You have nothing that we desire!" Thorin shouted back angrily. Fíli carefully shuffled until he was blocked from Thorin's site by Bombur. His uncle looked down at him for a long moment, and then slipped an oatmeal biscuit into his hand. Grateful, Fíli stuffed the whole thing into his mouth and did his best to chew the large mouthful unobtrusively.  
  
"We have this!" the man replied, raising a small sphere that shone with a rainbow of colours in the morning sunlight.  
  
"How came you by this!?" Balin demanded as Thorin staggered back in shock, his eyes fixed on what Fíli guessed was the arkenstone, given everyone's reactions.  
  
Bifur and Bombur looked at Fíli in astonishment, and he shook his head in helpless confusion. They had only handed over the star gems to Thranduil, as discussed, and already he could see that his army was leaving the valley, a narrow stream of elves marching off to the West in neat rows. Bard Dragonslayer certainly hadn't seemed like a person with such a valuable bargaining chip when he had rejected their advice the day before.  
  
"I gave it to them."  
  
The clear, high voice of the hobbit cut through the bass mutterings of the company and silence fell.  
  
"I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure," Bilbo added.  
  
His words sparked chaos as Thorin sprang at the halfling and shook him like a terrier with a rat, and Tharkûn appeared from thin air to rant at Thorin about damaging burglars. Fíli wasn't surprised; after seeing him last night he knew that the wizard must have been lurking somewhere, waiting to make a grand entrance. Bofur and Fíli were helping Bilbo climb over the wall for his own safety when a sleek black raven landed on the stone in front of Fíli's face with a hoarse caw, the buffeting wind of their landing blowing his braids into disarray.  
  
"The Lord of the Iron Hills approaches," the bird croaked. "He asks you to put the kettle on."  
  
"This is no time for tea!" Thorin bellowed. "The men have stolen the arkenstone! The burglar has betrayed the company, betrayed the line of Durin!" He glared at the bird, and Balin, in a move that surprised everyone, elbowed him out of the way.  
  
"Thank you, gracious soarer. Would you kindly take a return message?" the old dwarf asked, stomping firmly on Thorin's foot when he began to protest. "Shut up or the men will hear you and we'll loose the element of surprise," he muttered, and, looking taken aback, Thorin turned back to the waiting men to shout that the dwarves would conference and answer them in an hour.  
  
"I can fly another message," the bird confirmed. "Speak."  
  
"Say that Erebor is besieged by men who wish to barter the stolen arkenstone for a share of the treasure. His swift arrival and punishment of these vagabonds would be greatly appreciated."  
  
The raven cawed their acceptance and took off, flapping hard to gain altitude before catching an updraft from the side of the mountain and soaring off to the east.  
  
The dwarves left Nori and Óin as lookouts and retreated a short distance from the gate to hold a brief war council, perched on chunks of fallen masonry. Fíli and Kíli sat side by side, surrounded by their uncles.  
  
"I don't understand why Thranduil has withdrawn," Balin started once it was clear that Thorin was brooding and unlikely to open the meeting. Kíli glanced at Fíli and swallowed before setting his shoulders with determination.  
  
"I negotiated with him to leave us in peace," he said clearly. There were murmurs of astonishment and Bombur shifted closer to them both, ready to react if needed.   
  
"When did this happen? What did you offer in return?" Thorin demanded.  
  
"The line of Narvi claimed the gimli'habân as part of our share of the treasure," Fíli said, resting his hand on Kíli's shoulder in silent support. "As is our right, we have disposed of our share as we saw fit. We requested the aid of Kíli, Heir to the Kingdom of Erebor, to negotiate peace with our woodland neighbours in return for the gems. Last night, we met with Thranduil and our terms were accepted. He has agreed to leave us in peace."  
  
He could tell that Thorin wanted to protest, but their argument was too strong and the silent support of their uncles seemed to make him pause. He could not say that they had no right, for they did, as per the contracts that they signed and their birth right as dwarves. He could not say that they acted without authority, for by including Kíli they had. He could complain that they had endangered themselves, but the meeting had had a favourable outcome to the Kingdom.  
  
Thorin gritted his teeth and glared at them both. "You have served your Kingdom well," he said reluctantly. "Those colourless gems are a small price to pay to have the army of the Greenwood retreat from our doorstep. Dain will be here shortly, and strong dwarven steel will make short work of the treacherous humans." He glowered threateningly before adding. "We will speak of this further when the battle is won."   
  
Pressed close beside him, Fíli felt Kíli shiver.  
  
"The men have the wizard on their side," Balin reminded Thorin. "I'm sorry I did not think to ask the bird to warn Dain."  
  
"Dain is a fierce warrior," Thorin said, dismissing his concern. "Arm yourselves and prepare for battle. Once Dain arrives, we will join his forces and rout the men from our land. Return here and wait for my command."

  
  
The command was slow to arrive, and the company watched in horror from the battlements as Dain's charging forces were distracted and diverted when armies of orcs and goblins came pouring out of the foothills like maggots from a burst corpse. United by this common foe, the men and dwarves turned together to push the creatures back, away from Erebor and Dale. What was left of Thranduil's forces joined in, piping elven horns calling back the troops that had started the long march back to their City.  
  
And still Thorin did not appear, despite Balin and Dwalin both trying separately to rouse the King to the desperate reality of the situation outside.  
  
Kíli was fidgeting and stressed as they sat, watching and listening to the sounds of the conflict outside the mountain. Fíli wanted to go to him, to run his fingers through Kíli's soft hair and press their foreheads together, but he didn't dare. Bombur and Bifur were fussing over him while Bofur, more confident in his nephew's abilities than his brothers, was fussing over Bombur, tutting at the armour plate he had found and adjusting the fit.  
  
"I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us!" Kíli bellowed at his uncle in frustration when Thorin finally appeared, strangely devoid of the ornate armour he had taken to wearing everywhere. Fíli watched as the two dwarrows strode towards each other and tried to decipher the expression on Thorin's face. Was it pride? The edge of madness that had been present since Lake Town was somehow smoothed, the sharp edges worn away. What had happened after Thorin had left them?  
  
"It is not in my blood, Thorin," Kíli continued, pleading with their Uncle for understanding. For the first time in days, Fíli began to hope that his brother would receive it.  
  
"No," Thorin agreed softly. "It is not. We are sons of Durin, and Durin's folk do not flee from a fight." He smiled, eyes shining with unfallen tears, and pressed their foreheads together for a long moment before he looked over Kíli's shoulder and met Fíli's eyes, including him in the moment. "I have wronged you, my sister's sons. One day, I hope that you may forgive me. You have showed courage and honour in the face of adversity. You saw what was best for our people, and you took a risk to achieve it. I am proud of both of you."  
  
Fíli watched with widening eyes as Thorin left Kíli and strode over to clasp his shoulder with gentle fingers. "I have been blind," he said quietly. "Unable to see the truth of who you are behind my memories of who I wanted you to become when you were small. I have tried to force you into too tight a mould, Fíli of the line of Narvi. I swear to you, I will not forget again."  
  
Stunned and with a lump the size of the arkenstone jamming his throat, Fíli closed his eyes as Thorin tapped their foreheads together for the first time. The wild scent from his hair hung in the air around them, leather and forge smoke mingled with the scent of cool, wet stone, and part of Fíli remembered the time when that smell had meant safety, long decades ago.

"Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu, melhekhel," he murmured, feeling tension fall from his shoulders as he finally understood why Balin and Dwalin and the rest followed Thorin with such passion and devotion.  
  
Thorin had changed once again, and this time for the better. Fíli and Kíli stood shoulder to shoulder as the King's rousing speech continued, convincing even the suspicious Bifur that he was a leader worth following, this last time. It probably helped that all the dwarves in Erebor wanted to be out on that battlefield, fighting alongside their kin.  
  
Talk quickly turned to how they could best make a distracting entrance, to rally the army from the Iron hills that had been pressed back against the wall and distract and dismay the foe. Fíli knew that he and Kíli could not contribute much to the discussion, so he took the opportunity to pull his brother into the shadow of a pillar and warm the younger dwarf's cold fingers between his palms.  
  
"Well, that was different," he said lightly, and Kíli barked out a quiet laugh, tears in his eyes.  
  
"I have my uncle back," he choked out. "I was beginning to fear that he was lost forever."  
  
"Durins are not so easily broken, you're a stubborn lot," Fíli teased, earning himself a halfhearted glare.  
  
"You're a Durin too," the brunet grumbled, taking one of his hands back to poke Fíli hard in the chest through his chainmail. "By blood if not by name." His dark eyes slid sideways, making sure that they were out of sight of the others, before he slumped forward and pressed his nose into Fíli's neck.  
  
Fíli wrapped his arms around his brother's strong shoulders in return, holding him close as they took a moment to breathe together.   
  
"Be careful out there," he murmured into Kíli's hair.  
  
"I will if you will," the younger dwarf retorted, twisting to brush his lips along the soft bare skin where Fíli's beard ended before pulling away. Fíli pressed forward for a proper kiss before they stepped apart, moulding their lips together and revelling in the soft scratch of Kíli's stubble as their tongues touched for a brief moment. A second later there was a shout and a large clang, something heavy and metal settling into position.  
  
"Time to join the madness?" Fíli asked, and Kíli nodded, setting his hand on his sword.   
  
"Let's see what insane scheme they've come up with now."  


  
The battle was a mess of blood and ice, the deafening clamour of iron on steel with bellowed war cries rising over the din.  
  
"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"  
  
It was the smell that Fíli hated the most. Blood and offal and vomit lingering sourly in his nose and throat as they hacked their way through Azog's forces in Thorin's wake. Dain's forces rallied and began to push back, the elven reinforcements arrived in time to save the overwhelmed forces defending Dale.  
  
Fíli and Kíli followed Thorin up to Ravenhill in a mad attempt to, as Thorin said, cut the head off the snake. They left the heat and the sweat of the battle far behind, and missed entirely the moment when the long embedded axe was removed from their uncle's skull, to the jubilation of his cousins.  
  
It was as they scouted the seemingly abandoned watchtower that Fíli felt cold dread start to solidify in his stomach. It was too quiet; it stunk of a trap. Quickly, he doubled back to find Kíli, to drag his brother out of there by the hair if necessary, but a flicker of red torchlight on the black stone made him freeze and raise his swords, ready to slice any goblin that dared cross his path into ribbons.  
  
He should have known better than to expect a fair fight from an orc. Chunks of masonry, too many to dodge or deflect, rained down on him, and as he curled under the onslaught a large, filthy hand reached from behind to curl around his neck.  
  
"Here's a pretty golden bird," the orc croaked. "I think his defiling lordship would like to see what we have snared."  
  
Fíli fought until they cuffed him into a daze, leaving all of them bleeding and at least one dead. They were not gentle when they shoved him in front of Azog and he did his best to spit bloody saliva into the orc's pale eyes.  
  
It didn't hurt to be impaled, which came as a surprise. He just felt cold, struggling to hold onto his swords with numbing hands. Air was forced from his chest as Azog lifted him higher, and Kíli's anguished cry echoed off of the stones of the crumbling keep.  
  
"Fíli!"  
  
And then the winter wind was pushing at his braids and stinging his cheeks as he fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations
> 
> Gimli'habân - star-gems  
> Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu, melhekhel – May Mahal's hammer shield you, king of all kings  
> Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu! - Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!


	20. An Unbelievable Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end. I do hope that you have all enjoyed the journey. I never promised that this was a fix it, but the lore of Arda allows for a happy ending of sorts regardless. I am prouder of this fic than anything else I've written, including my original work, and I hope to put the lessons I've learnt here to good use in future stories.   
>    
> Ok, enough babble: on with the epilogue!

Fíli opened his eyes. In front of him, fine white marble stretched into the distance without a seam to mar the uniformity of the stone. Where in Arda could marble so fine be found?

Memory slammed into him and he gripped at his chest, expecting to feel torn cloth and blood, but there was nothing but smooth skin. He was clad in a pair of finely woven white linen trousers, his feet and chest bare. Gingerly, he rose to his feet and looked around.

He was alone, and yet not. A presence hovered, one at once familiar and alien to him. Fíli tensed, searching the vast room for evidence of the watcher, but instead his eyes fell upon a limp figure lying a short distance away. He would know that tangle of brown hair anywhere.

Fíli dropped to his knees beside the still form of his brother and reached out hesitantly, fingers trembling a little before they touched warm skin and relief slammed into him so hard it forced the breath from his lungs.

Alive.

"Kíli? Wake up, nadad, please?" he called softly, stroking his hand down Kíli's naked back.

Kíli woke with a long shudder, coughing as he twisted on the smooth marble to stare up into Fíli's face. "Fee? You're alive? We made it?"

Fíli shrugged. "I... don't think so," he said unwillingly, looking around at the vast hall. "Mahal? Zabadel?" he asked the empty air.

Kíli sat up and looked around, his eyes wide in his pale face, the dust and blood of battle washed clean from his body. "You think we're in the halls?!"

They rose to their feet together and looked around for a door. "We must be," Fíli reasoned. "No dwarf could make a hall this fine, it has been sung into being."

"Mahal sang of stone," Kíli half chanted in the familiar cadence that was drummed into every dwarfling.

" _And stone there was._ "

The unexpected reply made both of them jump, battle worn nerves sending them into a defensive crouch, back to back.

" _You have nothing to fear here, my children,_ " the Maker assured them. With a soundless shiver that passed through the rock under their feet, a doorway appeared in the previously featureless wall to their left. " _Go forth and meet your forebearers, rest and heal from the trials of Arda Marred. The time will soon come when I will ask you to raise your hammers anew to remake the world at my side._ "

Fíli straightened up slowly, and tipped his head up to the lit ceiling, where Mahal's voice seemed to emanate from. "Âkminrûk zu, umùhud-zaharâl," he said, dipping into a deep bow.

" _Idmi âzyungâlhith_ ," Mahal replied and his presence faded as Fíli froze in shocked horror, the warm blood in his limbs seeming to turn to ice in an instant.

Kíli groaned in dismay. "Mahumb! Mahal knows about us!"

"Mahal knows everything," Fíli replied through lips numb with shock. "I think I'm going to sit down again." He folded to the floor as gracefully as he could manage in his shock, Kíli clinging to his elbow the whole time.

"Fíli-"

"This is my fault," he interrupted, looking up into Kíli's dark eyes. "I am the elder."

"Nonsense," the archer snapped. "We both started this... this relationship with open eyes. The blame, if there even is any, is to be shared. And in any case, did it seem to you that he disapproved?"

"I... I suppose not," Fíli allowed, as he started to see past the shock of the words to remember how they were said. "He seemed, he seemed a little amused?"

"I thought so too," Kíli agreed. "And, well, if Mahal doesn't disapprove then we don't really need to worry about anyone else, right? We'll just be craft wed brothers, like you planned."

"Kíli! This is the halls of Mandos, we'll be here for centuries," Fíli protested. "It's not that I want to march up to great-grandmother and tell her that I'm buggering my brother, but that's a long time to keep a secret!"

Kíli dragged him back to his feet and bent down to plant a firm kiss on his protesting lips. "We'll play it by ear," he said decisively. "Come on, I bet there is plenty more to see on the other side of that door." He chewed his lip for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Centuries, yes?" he asked, a twinkle of mischief lighting his dark eyes as he reached out to take Fíli's hand, his long fingers sliding easily between Fíli's rough digits.

"Until the world is renewed," Fíli agreed.

"I wonder how good the sex will get once we have centuries to practise?"

Kíli's laugh rang out like silver bells over Fíli's protesting splutter as the younger dwarf dragged them both through the arched doorway and on, into the halls of their maker, to live and laugh and love, hand in hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations
> 
> Nadad - brother  
> Zabadel – Lord of Lords  
> Âkminrûk zu, umùhud-zaharâl – Thank you, builder of glory  
> Idmi âzyungâlhith - welcome, young lovers  
> Mahumb – Droppings (feces)
> 
> A/N: I can't believe that this is the end! All of your kudos and comments have kept me going, made me smile, made me think about the words I was using to tell this story to you all. I would love to know what you think of the ending if you'd care to leave me a comment.


End file.
